i       i 


•HARi 

LIBRARY-OF-AMER1       J 


THE  VIRi 


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^  oucl 


OHN    E'ST-EM 


NUMB?  R   14 


Harper's  Library  of  Select  Novels. 


PBICE 

HARPER'S    Library     of     Select    Novels- 
Continued. 

154.  The  Commissioner.    By  James $0  CO 

155.  The  Wife's  si.<ter.     By  Mre.  Hubback 35 

156.  The  Gold  Worshipers. 85 

15T.  Tin-  Daughter  of  Night.     By  Fullom 35 

15S.  Stuart  of  Dunleuth.     By  Hon.  Carolina  Norton.  35 

I.V.).  Arthur  C.  Hi  way.      By  Captain  1-1  II.  Milman  ..  40 

!<;<>.   The  Fate.     By  James 40 

1(51.  The  Lady  and'  the  Priest.     I'.y  Mrs.  Maberly. . .  i)5 

102.   Aims  and  Ob-tad. -s,       Bv  James 50 

1C,:!.   The  Tutor's  Wan) i',0 

1-il.   ll'.rence  Sackville.     By  Mrs.  Burbury 50 

lo.\   KaveusclifTe.     By  Mrs."  Marsh 40 

lt',0.   Maurice  Tiernay.      By  Lever 50 

107.   The  Head  of  the  Family.     I'.y  Mi,s  Mulock. . . .  50 

m.      ] ;y  \\arburton 35 

lti'.».  1  alkenbun,' 50 

ITii.  The  Dalt  r 75 

171.  Ivar;  or,  The  Skjute-Boy.  By  Miss  Carlen...  35 

uinillo.  By  James 40 

173.  Anna  ]  lamim-r.  By  'IVmmc 40 

171  A  Lire  of  Vicissitudes.  By  James 25 

175.  Henry  F.snu.nd.  By  Thackeray. . .' 50 

170,  177.  .My  Novel.  By  Buhver 75 

173.  Katie  Stewart. ..." 20 

179.  Castle  Avon.  By  Mrs.  Marsh 40 

ISO.  Ague-  Surd.  By  James 40 

•  lia'a  Unhand.  By  the  Author  of  "  Olive"  35 

1S-J.  Yilh-tte.  By  (  urrer  Bell 50 

r's  Stratagem.  By  Mis*  Carlen 35 

184.  Clouded  Happiness.  By  Countess  D'Orsay 30 

Is5.  Charles  Aiidiesti-r.  A  Memorial 50 

186.  Lady  Lee's  Widowhood 40 

1ST.  Dodd  Family  Abroad.  By  Lever CO 

' asper  Carew.  By  Lever 50 

1^9.  Quiet  Heart 20 

100.  Aubrey.  By  Mrs.  Mar,h 50 

191.  Ticonderoga.  By  James 40 

1!>2.  Hani  Times.  By  Dickens 25 

193.  The  Young  Husband.  By  Mrs.  Grey 55 

1'.'4.  The  Mother's  Kecompense.  I!y  Grace  Aguilar.  50 

1<i5.  Avillion,  &r.  By  Miss  Mulock Co 

llif..  North  and  South.  By  Mrs.  Gaskell 40 

197.  Country  Neighborhood.  By  Miss  Dupuy 40 

I'.'s.  Uotutance  Herbert  ByMin  Jewabory . 3o 

10'.'.  Th.-  Heiress  of  Haughton.  By  Mrs.  M'arsh 35 

20u.  The  Old  Dominion.  ByJaun'-s 40 

201.  John  Halifax.     By  the  Author  of  "  Olive,"  A-c.  50 

202.  Evelyn  Murston.   '  By  Mrs.  Marsh i!5 

'_'•::.   FortWMi  of  GleJMora     By  Lever 5o 

iora  d'Orco.     By  Jame* 40 

.in-  New.  By  Miss  Mulock 30 

2"G.  The  Hose  of  Ashurst.  By  Mrs.  Marsh 35 

V07.  The  Athdinu's.  By  Mrs.  oliphant 5<i 

.  s  of  Clerical  Life 50 

!>w.  My  Lady  Lodtar.  By  Mrs.  (laskell 20 

tierald  Fit/.gerald.  By  Lever -in 

Mi.  A  Life  for*  Life.  By  MiM  Mulock 4" 

-I  and  (iown.    By  Geo.  Lawreoea 2u 

'_'!».    Mi-re|.n-entation.      By  Anna  II.  Dniry <>0 

•J15.   The  Mill  on  tin-  I                                     i  liot 50 

..f  Th.-iu.     By  L.-ver   50 

217.   A  Day's  Ili.le.      Bv  I.- v,  r.     Illu-trated 40 

2is.   Notice  to  Quit.     By  Wills 40 

•:ani:.-  Sti.ry.       Illu-tra'.-d 50 

'."Jo.    Br»wn.  Jon.-,  and  Kot.iM-'.n.      By  Tr..l|.,pe i'>5 

221.  Abel  Drak.-1- \\  ii...    By  John  Sannden 5o 

222.  OliTe  Blake's  Good  Work,     By  J.  c.  Je:. tTn-.n.  5o 

2-.»3.  Th«  rr..f.—  ..r1-  La.ly.      IllMtntcd 20 

2'-'4.    Mi-tress  and  Maid.      By  M  i->-  Mul-.ck I'.o 

ra  Fl-.y.l.       I'.v    M.    I!.    Bl.'.ddon 40 

iunton.      I'.y  Lever 40 

vers.     By  Mr-.  Ga-ki-ll 4» 

ttB.    A  ln-t  1'ri-n.l-lii). 25 

199     A    Dark  Niirhr*  Work       Bv    M  r-.  ( .  .-kell     25 

Marlitt     lllu-trated..  BO 

2.-.I.   St.  •                           l.liza  '1'ahor 4o 

iut  of  Honor .".o 

it  Down.      I                            CiO 

2.TJ.    Martin  l'«.le.     By'Saini                           3o 

v  Lvnd-ay.      By  Ladv  l'..n-..til.v 40 

kimVi  Victory.     \---  M   i    Bradd-n.     lll>.  fio 

Trollop* .".5 

2.'S.  John  Mnrchmoot'«  Ix-ira'-y.      Bv  M.  I'.  Braddmi  5n 
\t  Warleitrh's  FoitunM.      Bv  ll'-hii-  I.. 

240.   T|,,,  wifi-N  l-'.videnc-       I'.v  Wills 4" 

.     Bv  Amelia  B.  I'dwanD....  M» 

24-2.   C..u-in  Bhillis '.'0 

2»::.  What  will  he  do  with  It?     By  Buhver 75 

244.  The  I  Adder  of  Life.     By  Amelia  B.  Ld«  ards. . .  2.'. 


PRICE 

HARPER'S    Library    of    Select    Novels- 
Continued. 

245.  Denis  1  >uval.     By  Thackeray.    Illustrated $0  25 

240.   Maurice  Dering.     By  Geo.  Lawrence 25 

247.   Margaret  Denzil's  History 

24s.  Quite  Alone.     By  George  Augustus  Sala.     Ill's. 

24'.».    Mattie  :  a  Stray 40 

250.  My  Brother's  Wife.     By  Amelia  B.  Edwards...  25 

251.  Uncle  Silas.     By  J.  S.  Le  Fanu 40 

252.  Lore!  the  Widower.     By  Thackeray 20 

25::.  Miss,  Mackenzie.     By  Anthony  Trollope 35 

254.  On  Guard.     By  Annie  Thomas 40 

255.  Theo  Leigh.     By  Annie  Thomas 40 

250.  Denis  Donne.    By  Annie  Thomas 4 

257.  Belial 

968.  <  arry's  Confession , 50 

25!).  M iss  ( 'arew.     By  Amelia  B.  Edwards 35 

200.  Hand  and  Glove.     By  Amelia  B.  Edwards 30 

201.  Guy  Deverell.     By  J.  S.  Le  Fanu 40 

202.  Haifa  Million  of  Money.  By  Amelia  B.  Edwards. 

Illustrated 

2G3.  The  Beltoti  Estate.     By  Anthony  Trollope 

204.  A.mies.      By  Mrs.  Oliphant 

205.  Walter  Goring.     By  Annie  Thomas 

20,;.   Maxwell  Drewitt.     By  Mrs.  J.  II.  Iliddell 

207.  The  Toilers  of  the  Sea.  Bv  Victor  Hugo.  Ill's.. 

20s.   M  iss  Marjoribanks.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 50 

209.  True  History  of  a  Little  Ragamuffin.    By  James 

Greenwood 35 

270.  Gilbert  Itugge.      By  the  Author  of  "A  First 

Friendship  " 60 

271 .  Sans  Merci.    By  Geo.  Lawrence 35 

272.  Phemie  Keller.     By  Mrs.  J.  11.  Kiddell 35 

27::.    Land  at  Last.     By  Edmund  Yates 40 

274.  Felix  Holt,  the  Radical     By  George  Eliot 50 

275.  Bound  to  the  Wheel.     By  John  Saunders 50 

27G.  All  in  the  Dark.     By  J.  S.  Le  Fanu 

277.  Kissing  the  Rod.     By  Edmund  Yates 

27<.  The  1,'ace  for  Wealth.     By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Kiddell. . 
271).  Lizzie  Lorton  of  Greyrigu:.     By  Mrs.  Lin  ton. . . 

2SO.  The  Beauclercs,  Father  and  Son.     ]u  C.  Clarke 

2>1.  Sir  Brook  Fossbrooke.     By  Charles  Lever 

•>2.   Madonna  Mary.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 5o 

.dock  Nowdl.     By  II.  D.  Blackmore 

284.  Bernthal.     From  the"  German  of  L.  Miihlbach. 

2^5.   Hachd's  Secret 40 

2SG.  TheClaverings.     By  Anthony  Trollope.     Ill's..  50 
2S7.  The  Village  on  the  Cliff.     By  Miss  Thackeray. 

Illustrated 05 

288.  Played  Out.     By  Annie  Thomas 4') 

•>'.».    mark   SI p.      By  Edmund  Yates 40 

290.  Sowing  the  Wind.     By  E.  Lynn  Linton 35 

291.  Nora  and  Archibald  Lee 40 

292.  Baytuond's  Heroine 40 

t>H3.  Mr.  Wynyard's  Ward.     By  1  Inline  Lee 25 

294.  Alec  Forbes.     By  George  "Macdonald f,o 

295.  No  Man's  Friend.     By  F.  W.  Kobinson 50 

290.  Called  to  Account.    By  Annie  Thomas 40 

2H7.    Casre 35 

29S.  The  Curate's  Discipline.    By  M n.  Kiloart 40 

2(.»9.  circe.    By  Babington  White 35 

•loo.  The  Tenants  of  Mai, TV.     By  J.  S.  Le  Fanu... 

::ol.   Carlyon's  Year.     By  James  J'ayu 25 

::o2.   The  Waterdale  N'ei-hbora 35 

::o:!.    Mabel's   Progress 40 

::o4.  C.uild  Court,      p.y  C,, •..  Macdonald.     Ill's 40 

L   The  Brothers*  Bet      By  Mir-s  Carlen 25 

:;oO.  Playing  for  High  stakes.  By  Annie  Thomas.  Ill'd  25 

::i>7.    Mar_ran  t's  r.tiu'.-iireiuent 25 

:tos.  One  of  the  Family     By  James  Payn 25 

::o;>.  Fire  Hundred  Pound*  Reward.  By  a  Banister..  35 

:;io.  Brownlows.     By  Mrs.  oliphant.. ." 5<» 

:;n.  Charlotte's  Inheritance.     P.V  Mi-*  p.raddon. ..  ::5 

2.  Jeaiii.-'s  Quiet  Lite.     By   Eliza  Tabor ;:o 

:;i::.  Boor  Humanity.    By  F.  W.  Roblmwn 50 

:i14.  Urake-<peare.     By  ( ;.  o.  A.  Lawrence.    "With  an 

Illustration.  .  .' 40 

,,-.       By  J.  S.  !  e  FatiU 40 

.'.10.  Love  or  Marriage  T    I'.y  w.  Black :M 

:',17.   Dead-Sea  Fruit.    By  Miss  P.I  -addon.    Illustrated.  50 

:'.!«*.   The  Dow,. r  Ho,,. e.'    By  Annie  Thomas :;:, 

.:i'.».  The  Braiiilrigli*  of  Bishop's  Folly.     By  Ix-ver. 

lllu-trat.'d 50 

Mildred.     By  Georgiana  M    Craik ?0 

:521.   Nature's    No'hleman.     By  the  Author  of  "  Ila- 

dlel's   Secret" 85 

122.  Kathleen.      By  the  Author  of  '•  Kaymond's  H- 

n.ir,                                    ! 50 

.  ThatBoyof  Noroott'H,   ByCharleo  Lever.  Ill's..  25 

324.   In  Silk  Attire.     By  W.  Black .".5 

.   Hetty.     By  Henry  King-ley 


25 

I 


i 


Harper's  Library  of  Select  Novels. 


I'BICE 

HARPER'S    Library     of    Select    Novels- 
Continued. 

326.  False  Colors.     P.y  Annie  Thomas $0  40 

3-27.    Mi  ta's  1  aitli.    By  Eliza  Tabor 35 

M.I  Dead,     lly  James  Payn '25 

82l>.  Wrecked  in  Port.     By  Kdmund  Vales 3f> 

330.  The  Mini.-ter's  Wife..     By  Mr-.  Olipliant 50 

331.  A  lieiru'aron  Horseback.  '  By  James  1'iiyn 3'> 

33-2.  Kitty.     By  M.  Bethwn-KdwanU 35 

333.  Only  Iler.-elf.     By  Annie  Thomas 3ft 

334.  Hhvii.    ByJokntoimden 40 

335.  Under  Foot.     I'.y  Alton  Clyde.      Illustrated...  40 
:;n<;.  Bo  Rana  the  World  Aw*?.    By  Mr.-.  A.  ('.  Steele.  35 

337.   BatH.  d.     Hy  Julia  Goddard.      Illustrated 50 

33*.   Beneath  tin"-  Wheels 50 

339.  Stern  Necessity.     By  F.  W.  Robinson 40 

340.  Gwendoline's  Harvest.     By  James  Payn 25 

341.  Kihueny.     By  William  Black 35 

34-'.  .lolui:  A  Love  Story.     By  Mrs.  Oliphnnt 25 

343.  True  to  Herself.     By  F/W.  Kobinson M) 

344.  Veronica.   Hy  the  Author  of  "Mabel's  Progress"  50 

345.  A  Dangerous  Guest.     By  Hie  Author  of  "Gil- 

bert Rugge" 30 

346.  F.stelle  Russell 60 

347.  The  Hdr  Expectant,   By  the  Author  of  "  Ray- 

mond's Heroine" 40 

343.  Which  is  the  Heroine  ? 40 

349.  The  Vivian  Romance.     P.y  Mortimer  Collins..  35 

350.  In  Duty  Hound.     Illustrated 35 

351.  The  Warden  and  Barchester  Towers.    By  A. 

Trollope CO 

353.  From  Thistles— Grapes  ?  By  Mrs.  Eiloart. ...  35 

353.  A  Siren.  By  T.  A.  Trollope 40 

354  Sir  Harry  Hotspur  of  Humblethwaite.  By 

Anthony  Trollope.  Illustrated 35 

355.  Earl's  Dene.  By  R.  K.  Francillon M) 

35t>.  1  )aisy  Nichol.  By  Lady  Hardy 35 

857.  Bred  in  the  Bone.  By  James  Payn.  Ill's....  40 

:!.')*.  lYnton's  Quest.  P.y  Miss  Braddon.  Illustrated..  50 

35'.>.  Monarch  of  Mincing-Lane.  By  W.  Black.  Ill's.  50 

3(>'t.  A  Life's  Assize.  By  Mrs.  J.  H.  Riddell 40 

301.  Anteros.  By  the  Author  of  "Guy  Livingstone."  40 

36-2.  Her  Lord  and  Master.  By  Mrs.  Ross  Church. .  30 

8(53.  Won— Not  Wooed.  By  James  Payn 35 

304.  1  or  Lack  of  Gold.  By  Charles  Gibbon 35 

3(55.  Anne  Furness 50 

300.  A  Daughter  of  Heth.  By  W.  Black. 35 

307.  1  hirnton  Abbey.  By  T.  A.  Trollope 40 

3CS.  Joshua  Marvel.  By  B.  L.  Farjeon 40 

309.  Levels  of  Arden.  By  M.  ]«:.  Braddon.  Ill's.  50 

370.  Fair  to  See.  By  L.  W.  M.  Lockhart 40 

87 1.  Cecil's  Tryst.  By  James  Payn 30 

37'2.  Patty.  By  Katharine  S.  Macquoid 5<> 

373.  Maud  Mohan.     By  Annie  Thomas 25 

374.  Grif.     By  B.  L.  Farjeon 35 

375.  A  Bridge  of  Glass.     By  F.  W.  Robinson 30 

376.  Albert  Luuel.     By  Lord  Brougham 50 

377.  A  Good  Investment      By  Wm.  Flagg.     Ill's..  35 
::-.  A  Golden  Sorrow.    By  Mi's.  Cashel  lloey 4(> 

379.  Ombra.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 50 

380.  Hope  Deferred.     By  Eliza  F.  Pollard 30 

381.  The  Maid  of  Sker.     By  R.  D.  Blackmore  .   .  50 

382.  For  the  King.     By  Charles  Gibbon 30 

383.  A  Girl's  Romance,  and  Other  Tales.     By  F.  W. 

Robinson SO 

384.  Dr.  Wainwright's  Patient.    By  Edmund  Yates.  35 

o85.  A  Passion  in  Tatters.     By  Annie  Thomas 50 

3?6.  A  Woman's  Vengeance.     By  James  Payn 35 

:J87.  Strange  Ad  ventures  of  a  Phaeton.  By  W.  Black.  50 

383.  Tc  the  Bitter  End.  By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon.  Ill's.  50 

389.  Robin  Gray.     By  Charles  Gibbon 35 

390.  Godolphin.     By  Bui  we  r 35 

391.  I^eila.     By  Bufwer.     Illustrated 25 

392.  Kenelm  Chillingly.     By  Lord  Lytton.     Ill's..  5<i 

393.  The  Hour  and  the  Man.   By  Harriet  Martineau  50 

394.  Murphy's  Master.     By  James  Payn 20 

395.  The  New  Magdalen.     By  Wilkie  Collins 30 

390.  "'He  Cometh  Not,'  She   Said."     By  Annie 

Thomas 30 

397.  Innocent.  By  Mrs.  Oliphant.     Illustrated..!.'!  50 

398.  Too  Soon.     By  Mrs.  Macquoid 30 

399.  Strangers  and  Pilgrims.  By  Miss  Braddon.  Ill's.  50 

400.  A  Simpleton.     By  Charles  Reade 35 

401.  The  Two  Widows.     By  Annie  Thomas 25 

402.  Joseph  the  Jew.    By  Miss  V.  W.  Johnson 40 

403.  Her  Face  was  1  ler  Fo'rtune.   By  F.  W.  Robinson.  40 

404.  A  Princess  of  Thule.     By  w'.  Black 60 

405.  Lottie  Darling.    By  J.  C.  Jeaffreson. ..  60 

406.  The  Blue  Itibbon.    By  Eliza  Tabor 

407.  Harry  Heathcote  of  Gangoil.    By  A.  Trollope. 

Illustrated .. 20 


I'UIOK 

HARPER'S    Library    of     Select    Novels- 
Continued. 

40S.  Publicans   and  Sinners.     P.y  Mies  Braddon... $0  50 

4"H».   Colonel  Dacre.      By  tin-  Author  of  "<  'a-le". ..  35 

410.  Through  Fire  and  Water.   P.y  FivderickTulln.t. 

Illustrated 20 

411.  Lady  Anna.     P.y  Anthony  Trollope ::» 

412.  Taken  at    the  Flood.     By  Miss  Braddon 6J 

413.  At   Her  Mercy.      P.y -lames    Payii 80 

411.    Ninety-Three.      l!y  Victor  Hug,...      Ill's 25 

415.   For  Love  and  Life.      By  Mrs.  <  Miplmnt 6,» 

41(1.    Doctor  Thorne.     By  Anthony  Trollope 50 

417.  The  Best  of  Husbands.     By  James  Payn 25 

41S.  Sylvia's  Choice.     By  Gcorgiana  M.  Craik 3H 

ll'.i.   A  Sack  of  Gold.     By  Miss  V.  W.  Johnson. ...  D5 

4-20.  Squire  Arden.     By  Mr.-.  Oliphant 60 

4-.' 1.    Lorna  Doone.      P.y  U.  D.  I'.lackmore.      Ill's...  60 

422.  The  Treasure  Hunters.  By  Geo.  Manville  Fenn.  25 

423.  Lost  for  Love.     By  Miss  M.  K.  Braddon.    Ill's.  60 

424.  Jack's  Sister.     By  Miss  Dora  Havers 60 

425.  Aileen  Ferrers.     By  Susan  Morley 30 

426.  The  Love  that  Lived.     By  Mrs.  Eiloart SO 

427.  In  Honor  Bound.     By  Charles  Gibbon 35 

428.  Jeseie  Trim.     By  B.  L.  Farjeon 85 

4-_".».  Hagarene.     By  George  A.  Lawrence 85 

430.  Old  Myddelton's  Money.     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay.  25 

431.  At  the  Sign  of  the  Silver  Flagon.    By  B.  L.  Far- 

jeon  ' 25 

432.  A  Strange  World.    By  Miss  Brrfffdon 40 

433.  Hope  Meredith.     By  Eliza  Tabor 35 

434.  The  Maid  of  Killeena.     By  William  Black....  40 

435.  The  Blossoming  of  an  Aloe.     By  Mrs.  lloey...  30 
430.  Safely  Married.    By  the  Author  of  kt  Caste.". .  25 

437.  The  Story  of  Valentine  and  his  Brother.     By 

.Mrs.  Oliphant 60 

438.  Our  Detachment.     By  Katharine  King 35 

439.  Love' a  Victory.     By  B.  L.  Farjeon 20 

440.  Alice  Lorraine.     By  R.  D.  Blackmore 60 

441.  Walter's  Word.     By  James  Payn 50 

44-2.  Playing  the  Mischief.     By  J.  W.  De  Forest. ..  60 

443.  The  Lady  Superior.     By  Eliza  P.  Pollard....  85 

444.  Iseulte.     By  the  Author  of  "  Vera,'1  "  H»"'tel  du 

Petit  St.  Jean,"  &c 30 

445.  Eglantine.    By  Eliza  Tabor 40 

440.  Ward  or  Wife  ?    Illustrated 25 

447.  Jean.     By  Mrs.  Newman 35 

44S.  The  Calderwood  Secret.  By  Miss  V.W.  Johnson  40 

449.  Hugh  Melton.    By  Katharine  King.    Ill's....  25 

450.  Healey. 35 

451.  Hostages  to  Fortune.    By  Miss  Braddon.   Ill's.  50 

452.  The  Queen  of  Connaught 36 

453.  Off  the  Roll.     By  Katharine  King 50 

454.  Halves.     By  James  Payn 30 

455.  The  Squire's  Legacy.     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay. . .  25 

456.  Victor  and  Vanquished.     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay.  25 

457.  Owen  Gwynne's  Great  Work.  By  Lady  Augusta 

Noel 30 

458.  His  Natural  Life.     By  Marcus  Clarke 50 

459.  The  Curate  in  Charge.    By  Mrs.  Oliphant ....  20 

460.  Pausanias  the  Spartan.     By  Lord  Lytton 25 

461.  Dead  Men's  Shoes.     By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon. .  40 
402.  The  Dilemma.    By  the  Author  of  u  The  Battle 

of  Dorking." W> 

4H3.  Hidden  Perils.     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay. 25 

464.  Cripps,  the  Carrier.  By  R.  D.  Blackmore.  Ill's.  50 

465.  Rose  Turquand.     By  Ellice  Hopkins 35 

466.  As  Long  as  She  Lived.     By  F.  W.  Robinson ...  50 

467.  Israel  Mort,  Overman.     By  John  Saunders 50 

468.  Phoebe,  Junior.   By  Mrs.  Oliphant. 35 

469.  A  Long  Time  Ago.     By  Meta  Orred 25 

470.  The  Laurel  Bush.    By  the  Author  of  "John 

Halifax,  Gentleman."     Illustrated 25 

471.  Miss   Nancy's  Pilgrimage.      By  Virginia  W. 

Johnson 40 

472.  The  Arundel  Motto.     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay ?5 

473.  Azalea.     By  Cecil  Clayton 30 

474.  Daniel  Deronda.     By  George  Eliot 5(» 

475.  The  Sun-Maid.    By  the  Author  of  "Artiste."..  35 

476.  Nora's  Love  Test.     By  Mary  Cecil  Hay 25 

477.  Joshua  Haggard's  Daughter.     By  Miss  M.  K. 

Braddon.     Illustrated 50 

478.  Madcap  Violet.     By  William  Black 50 

479.  From  Dreams  to  Waking.   By  E.  Lynn  Linton. 

4SO.  The  Duchess  of  Rosemary  Lane.  By  B.  L.  Farjeon  35 

481.  Anne  Warwick.     By  Georgiana  M.  Craik 25 

482.  Weavers  and  Weft.     By  Miss  Braddon 25 

483.  The  Golden  Butterfly.     By  the  Authors  of 

"  When  the  Ship  Comes  Home,"  &c 40 

484  Juliet's  Guardian.  By  Mrs.  H.  Lovett  Cameron. 

Illustrated 40 

4S5.  Mar's  White  Witch.     By  G.  Douglas 50 


Harper's  Library  of  Select  Novels. 


HARPER'S    Library    of    Select    Novels- 
Continued. 

4S6.  1  leaps  of  Money.    By  W.  E.  Non  i< $0  25 

4->7.  The  American  Senator.    By  Anthony  Trollope.  50 

-.Arthur.     By  Mr*.  Oliphant 40 

4S.».  Winstowe.     By  Mrs.  Leith-Adains 25 

490.  Mai j,, i -i.?  linic ."'a  Lovers.     By  Mary  Patrick. ..  25 

491.  Romola.     by  George  Eliot     Illustrated 50 

It*.  By  Mn.  Oliphant  Illustrated 50 

4:»:;.  Middlemarch.  By  George  Eliot 75 

4'.'4.  F.>r  Her  Sake.  $7  F.  W.  KoUnaon.  Ill's....  60 

495.  Second-Cousin  Sarah.  ByF.W.  Uobinson.  Ill's..  50 

4%.  Little  Kate  Kirby.  By  F.  W.  Robinson.  Ill's.  50 

497.  Luttrell  of  Arran.  By  Charles  Lever CO 

4'.».  I..,rd  Kilgobbin.  By  Charles  Lever,  Ill's....  50 

:y  Butler.     By  Charles  Lever CO 

500.  Breaking  a  Butterfly.  13y  George  A.  Lawrence. 

Illustrated 35 

501.  Mrs.  Lirriper's  Legacy.     By  Charles  Dickens. .  10 

502.  The  Mystery  of  Edwin  Drood.    By  Charles 

Dickers.      Illustrated 25 

503.  The  Parisians.     By  Bulwer.     Illustrated CO 

.••Edge.     \VithanIllustration 20 

506.  The  Bate  of  the  Monk.    67  Garibaldi 30 

M  >•'..  I  n.-ide.     By  W.  M.  Baker.     Illustrated 75 

507.  Carter  Qiiarterman.     By  W.  M.  Baker.     Ill's..  GO 

Mis.   Three  Feathers.     By  Wm.  Black.     Ill's 50 

501).  Bound  to  John  Company.     By  Miss  Braddon. 

Illustrated 50 

510.  Birds  of  J'n-y.    By  Mi.-a  Braddon.    Illustrated,  50 

Ml.  The  Prey  of  the  Gods.    By  Mrs.  Ross  Church.  30 

512.  The  Woman  in  White.  By  Wilkie  Collins.  Ill's.  60 

513.  The  Two  Destinies.     By  Wilkie  Collins.    Ill's.  35 

514.  The  Law  and  the  Lady.  By  Wilkie  Collins.  Ill's.  50 

515.  Poor  Miss  Finch.     By  Wilkie  Collins.     I11V...  CO 
Mr,,  x,,  Name.     By  Wilkie  Collins.     Illustrated...  CO 

M7.  The  Moonstone.    By  Wilkie  Collins.    Ill's CO 

•Ms.   Man  and  Wife.     By  Wilkie  Collins     Ill's CO 

.'.!'.».  Armadale.     By  Wilkie  Collins.     Illustrated...  CO 

r>-'n.  My  Daughter  Elinor.    By  Frank  Lee  Benedict.  80 

r>Jl.  .J..hn  Worthington's  Name.  By  F.  Lee  Benedict  75 

r.j-j.  Miss  Dorothy's  Charge.     By  F.  Lee  Benedict. .  75 

r>-':;.  Miss  Van  Kortland.     By  Frank  I^e  Benedict..  GO 

5.' 4.  St.  Simon's  Niece.     By  Frank  Lee  Benedict...  CO 

r.-.T,.  Mr.  VanghanV  Hi-ir.     By  Frank  Lee  Benedict.  75 

5-26.  Captain  Brand.     By  11.  A.  Wise.    Illustrated.  75 

tier  or  Later.     By  Shirley  Brooks.     HIV. . .  80 
.VJx  'Die  Gordian  Knot     By  Shirley  Brooks.   With 

an  Illustration 50 

520.  The  Silver  Cord.     By  Shirley  Brooks.    Ill's...  75 

.r.::o.  (  ord  and  (Jr«««-s«.   By  James  De  Mille.    Ill's. . .  GO 

631.  The  Living  Link.     By  James  De  Mille.     Ill's..  CO 

.'•::•_'.  The  American  Baron.  By  James  De  Mille.  Ill's.  50 

r>:::;.  The  cryptogram.    By  James  De  MUto  Ill'c...  75 

.V.4.  The  King  of  No-Land.   By  B.  I~  Faijeon.  Ill's.  25 

.',:;:..   An  I, Ian. I  Pearl.     By  B.  I,  Farjeon.     Ill's Mo 

r.:n'i.   P.lade-o' -Grass.   By  B.  I*  Farjeon.    Illustrated.  80 
T>37.  Bread-and-Cheese  and  Kisses.     By  B.  L.  Far- 

ji-oii.     Illustrated 35 

len  Grain.     By  B.  !„  Farjeon.     Illustrated.  .-55 

Inn's  Heart.    By  B.  L.  Farjeon.    Illustrated.  CO 

M".  Shadows  on  the  Snow.    By  B.  I-.  Farjeon.  Ill's.  30 

Ml.   N.  '                           I'.y  John  Cordy  JeaiTVeson CO 

54-J.  The  Island  Neighbors.      By  Mrs.  A.  B.  Black- 

well.      Illustrated CO 

M."..   The  Woman's  Kinu'dmn.    By  Mi-s  Midock.  Ill's.  CO 

Ml.   Hannah.     By  Mis-  Mul^k."    With  Three  Ill's. .  35 

M:.     A  P.mve  Lady.     Bv  M  i-  Mnlork.     Illustrated.  Co 

Mother  and  L    By  Mi-  Mul.K-k.   Illnstn.ted.  40 

M7.  Uhrooietof  Of  Carllngfnrd.      By  Mrs.  (iliphant  CO 

•  M  Soil.      I'.y  Mrs.  Ol'iplnmt 50 

M'.t.  The   Perpetual  Curate.     Ily  Mrs.  Oliphant 50 

r,r,0.   did  K«-ii-in-_'t..n.                             arkcray.      Ill's..  CO 

.V.I.    Mi-j  An-.'l.      P.v  Mi-"  Thacker.-iv.     Illustrated.  f>o 

|laneou»Writlng«.  Ill's.  90 

5.'a   Vanity  Fair.    P.v  W.  M. Thackeray.   Illu-tratc.l.  so 
.V>4.  The  liistorv  of "ivudt-ntii-.     By  \V.  M.  Thiick- 

1 75 

DBS.  Th«VlrgtnlaiM       By  \V.  M.  Thark.-niy.     Ill's..  !0 

By  W.  M.  Thackeray.    Ill's..  90 


PEICS 

HARPER'S  Library  of  Select  Novels- 
Continued. 

557.  The  Adventure.-!  of  Philip.  By  W.  M.  Thack- 
eray. Illustrated $0  CO 

55S.  Henry  Esmond,  and  Lovel  the  Widower.  By 

W.  M.  Thackeray.  Illustrated CO 

559.  Put  Yourself  in  His  Place.    By  Charles  Reade. 

Illustrated 

560.  A  Terrible  Temptation.  By  Charles  Keade.  Ill's 
5C1.  The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth.  By  Charles  Reade. 
.%->.  The  Wandering  Heir.    By  Charles  Heade.    Ill's. 
563.  Hard  Cash.     By  Charles  Reade.     Illustrated.. 
.V.4.  Griffith  Gaunt.    By  Charles  Reade.    Ill's 

565.  It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend.  By  Charles  Reade. 

566.  Love  We  Little,  Love  Me  Long.     By  Charles 

Reade.    With  an  Illustration 35 

567.  Foul  Play.     By  Charles  Reade 35 

f>C>S.  White  Lies.     By  Charles  Reade 40 

569.  Peg  Woffiugtou,  Christie  Johnstone,  and  Other 

Stones.     By  Charles  Reade 50 

570.  A  Woman-Hater.     By  Charles  Reade.     With 

Two  Illustrations CO 

571.  Orley  Farm.     By  Anthony  Trollope.     Ill's....  80 
57'2.  The  Vicar  of  Bullhampton.     By  Anthony  Trol- 
lope.    Illustrated 80 

573.  The  Way  We  Live  Now.  By  Anthony  Trol- 
lope. Illustrated 90 

f>74.  Phineas  Finn.     By  Anthony  Trollope.     Ill's..  75 

575.  Phineas  Redux.    By  Anthony  Trollope.    Ill's..  75 

576.  Ralph  the  Heir.     By  Anthony  Trollope.     Ill's.  75 

577.  The  Eustace  Diamonds.    By  Anthony  Trollope.  80 

578.  The  Last  Chronicle  of  Barset     By  Anthony 

Trollope.     Illustrated 90 

579.  The  Golden  Lion  of  Granpere.     By  Anthony 

Trollope.     Illustrated ; 40 

5SO.  The  Prime  Minister.     By  Anthony  Trollope  . .       60 
581.  Can  You  Forgive   Her?     By  Anthony  Trol 

lope.     Illustrated 

5S2.  He  Knew  He  Was  Right.     By  Anthony  Trol 

lope.     Illustrated SO 

583.  The  Small  House  at  Allington.     By  Anthony 

Trollope.     Illustrated 

584.  The  Sacristan's  Household.   By  Mrs.  F.  E.  Trol- 

lope.   Illustrated 

5^5.  Lindisfarn  Chase.     By  T.  A.  Trollope 

5^6.  Hidden  Sin.     Illustrated 

5S7.  My  Enemy's  Daughter.  By  Justin  McCarthy. 
Illustrated 

5SS.  My  1 1 usband's  Crime.  By  M.  R.  Housekeeper. 
Illustrated 

5S9.  Stretton.     By  Henry  Kiugxley 35 

5'.M).  Ship  Ahoy  !    By  G.  M.  Fenn.     Illustrated 35 

591.  Debenham's  Vow.  By  Amelia  B.  Edwards.  Ill'd.      50 

-V.'-J.  Wives  and  Daughters.  By  Mrs.  Gaskell.  Il- 
lustrated   CO 

593.  Recollections  of  Eton.     Illustrated 

T>'.)4.   Under  the  Ban.     By  M.  1'Al.lw  *  *  « 

595.  The  Rape  of  the  Gamp.     By  C.  W.  Mason.    Il- 

lustrated  

596.  Erema;  or,  My  Father's  Sin.    By  R.  1).  Black- 

more 

«97.  What  He  Cost  Her.     By  James  Pnyn 40 

.V.N.  Giv.-n  Pastures  and  Piccadilly.    By  Win.  Black  50 

599.  A  Young  Wife's  story.     By  llarriette  Bowra..  25 

coo.  A  Jewel  of  a  Girl.   By  "the  Author  of  "  Queenie."  .35 

Col.  An  Open  Verdict,     By  Miss  M.  E.  Braddon...  35 

CO-_'.  A  Modern  Minister.     Vol.1.     Illustrated 35 

603.  A  Modern  Minister.     Vol.  II.     Illustrated 40 

Cii-l.  Young  Mnsirrave.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 40 

605.  Two  Tales  of  Married  Life.     By  Georgiana  M. 

rraik  and  M.  ('.Stirling 30 

.  The  I-ast  of  the  Haddons.     By  Mrs.  Newman.  25 

tin;.  The  Wreck  of  the  "Grosvcnor" 30 

N6L  P.v  Proxy.     By  James  1'ayn 35 

•  elia'-s  Arbor.      P.v  Itesant  and  Kire f>0 

610.  Deceivi  rs  I'.ver.      By  Mr-.  <':mier<>n 30 

HI  I, -P.lMck  than  We're  Paint. •.!.  p.y  James  Pnyn.  35 

61'.'.  Mine  is  Thine.     By  L.  W.  M.  Lockhart 40 

t',13.  The  Primrose  Path.     By  Mr-.  Oliphant 50 

614.  Madeod  of  Dare.    By  Wm.  Black.     Ill'd 60 


80 


THE  VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS 


Noucl 


BY  JOHN   ESTEN    COOKE 

AUTHOR  9F  L 

"STORIES  OF  THE  OLD  DOMINION"    "MR.  GRANTLEY'S  IDEA"   "HENRY 
ST.  JOHN,  GENTLEMAN"  "PROFESSOR.  PRESSENSEE" 


NEW    YORK 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS,    FRANKLIN    SQUARE 

1880 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1880,  by 

HARPER    &    BROTHERS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


CONTENTS. 


I.                    p 

IN  BOHEMIA  

v«;r. 

9 
10 
10 
11 
13 
15 
16 
17 
19 
23 

27 
30 
33 
38 

39 

42 

48 

XVIII. 

PAGE 

52 
56 
59 
62 
64 
67 
70 
72 
76 
81 
86 

89 
91 
95 

98 
101 
103 

107 

II. 
A  LOITERER  

XIX. 
T.HE  REVEREND  MR  GRVNTH\M 

III. 

XX. 

MR  GRANTHAM'S  GUESTS 

IV. 
DADDY  WTELLES  EN  FAMILLE  

XXI. 

BRANTZ  ELLIOT  

V. 

A  STARTLING  INCIDENT  

XXII. 
DADDY  WELLES  SURPRISED  

VI. 

PIEDMONT  WAKES  UP  

XXIII. 

VII. 
A  TRIFLE  LEADING  TO  A  GRE\T  DEAL  

XXIV. 

VIII. 

XXV. 

SOME  NEW  RESIDENTS  OF  BOHEMIA  

IX. 
MR.  DOUGLAS  LASCELLES  ..  . 

XXVI. 

X. 

THE  LADY-BIRD'S  NEST  ,  

XXVII. 

THE  TRAMPS 

XI. 
THE  UNRIVALLED    COMBINATION  AND  ITS 
MANAGER  

XXVIII. 

THE  HOME  OF  THE  HOMELESS 

XXIX. 

XII. 

SOME  CHILDREN  OF  THE  RING 

XIII. 
MOUSE  

.XXX. 

DADDY  \VELLES  RECONNOITRES 

XIV. 
AN  ACCIDENT  

XXXI. 

XV. 
THE  DRESSING-ROOM  

XXXII. 

MR.  LASCELLES  MEETS  AN  OLD  ACQUAINT- 

XVI. 

OF  THE  HEAVY  BLOW  INFLICTED  ON  THE 
UNRIVALLED  COMBINATION  AND  ITS  MAN- 

XXXIII. 

MR.  LASCELLES  KEEPS  HIS  APPOINTMENT. 

XXXIV. 
AT  TRIANON                                 

XVII. 

GENERAL  LASCELLES.  .. 

XXXV. 

Miss  BASSICK... 

XXXVI.  TAGE 

A  STRUGGLE 110 

XXXVII. 

THE  BOHEMIANS.. ..  ..  112 


XXXVIII. 


FLOTSAM  . 


11G 


XXXIX. 
SHINGLES 118 

XL. 
A  SLIGHT  SILHOUETTE  OF  Miss  GEUNDY.  120 

XLI. 
Miss  BASSICK'S  PRIVATE  POST 123 

XLII. 
NAILS 12G 

XLIII. 
THE  DANGER  OF  DELIRIUM...  ,.  128 


XLIV. 
THE  CLOD  AND  THE  STAR. 


130 


XLV. 
A  FEMALE  MANCEUVRER  .......................   132 

XLVL 

GENTLEMAN  Jos  AND  HIS  GHOSTS  ...........  135 

XLVIL 
MR.  RUGGLES  REAPPEARS  AT  CROW'S  NEST  138 

XLVIII. 

Mi:.  RUGGLES  FINDS  HIS  SITUATION  RATH- 

i.i:    IM  I.l.V.SANT  ...............................     130 

XLIX. 
Is  TIII,  BOHMI;KWAI.I>  ...........................  142 

L. 
MOUSE'S  VISITOR  .................................  145 

LI. 
L    Ix  Tin;  WYI;  WOODS  ............................  148 

LIT, 

THE  TRAVI.I.UN<.-I;\<;  ..........................   i:,o 

LIII. 


Is   THE   LlKKAKY 

LIV. 

TIM:  MOI:MN<;  l'\n  i: 


1  :,',} 


LV. 

MKS.  AUMSTI:'  iir.u  NAII.S  .......    15'.) 

LVI 

AN  i  I  i:\  II  \v  .................    1G1 

LVII. 
JUI.IKT...  .............    104 


LYIII. 
A  Ti:i:uinLE  ISCIM.N  i .... 


168 


LIX. 
THE  FOE  OF  RITUALISM 172 

LX. 
THE  BURGLAR 175 

LXI. 
DOVES 180 

LXII. 
THE  BANK-NOTES 183 


LXIII. 
IN  THE  TRIANON  WOODS... 


LXIV. 


THE  OLD  CHAPEL. 


188 
192 


LXV. 

JULIET'S  SECRET 195 

LXVI. 
MRS.  ARMSTRONG'S  GREAT  BLOW 198 

LXVII. 

GENTLEMAN  JOE  TELLS  NELLY  THE  WIND'S 
STORY 

LXVIII. 
A  MEETING  OF  MOONSHINERS 205 

LXIX. 
A  FORTUNATE  VICTIM  OF  MISFORTUNE....  209 

LXX. 

MR.  LASCELLES    REFLECTS    DEEPLY   AND 
WRITES   A  NOTE... 


LXXI. 


A  HAPPY  FAMILY. 


21; 


LXXI  I. 
A  MAN  OF  THE  BOHMERWALD 214 

LXXIII. 
UNDER  THE  ICE 21G 

LXXIV. 
MOUSE  CHOOSES 

LXXV. 
THE  DEAD  AND  LIVING 22] 

LXX  VI. 
BLUE  COATS  IN  BOHEMIA 224 

LXXVII. 

THE  LAST  GREETING 22( 

I.  XX  VIII. 

THE  ADVANCK  INTO  Tin:  GORGE.... 


LXXIX. 

FvUI.WKLL  TO  BOHl  MI  V... 


LXXX. 
THE  BARRICADE 230 

I, XXXI. 
THE  SONG  OF  AN  ORIOLE....  ..  231 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


IN    BOHEMIA. 

BOHEMIA  was  in  all  its  glory :  not  the 
Bohemia  of  the  Austro-Hungarian  mon- 
archy, but  the  valley  of  that  name  under 
the  shadow  of  the  Blue  Ridge  in  Vir- 
ginia. 

It  nestled,  this  Virginia  Bohemia,  down 
between  two  ranges — the  main  great  crest 
of  the  real  "  Blue  Ridge  Mountains  "  roll- 
ing off  to  the  blue  distance  in  long  surges 
— tipped  with  the  foam  of  the  snow  in 
winter;  the  fleecy  charm  of  the  white 
clouds  when  the  summer  sun  was  shin- 
ing ;  and  a  much  lower  range,  a  chain 
of  wooded  hills,  which  hemmed  it  in  on 
the  west.  Clasped  by  the  two,  Bohemia 
slept  like  a  bird's-nest  cradled  in  a  rift  of 
foliage. 

Northward  the  valley  had  its  embou- 
chure, and  the  view  sweeping  far  beyond 
Front  Royal,  where  the  branches  of  the 
Shenandoah  melt  together,  lost  itself  on 
the  infinite  horizon  of  the  Maryland 
mountains.  Southward,  Bohemia  stole 
away  into  a  wooded  gorge — shadowy,  si- 
lent, full  of  mysterious  gloom.  It  was 
the  Virginia  Hartz,  this  gorge  and  moun- 
tain— for  above  it  was  the  "  Hogback " 
peak,  a  bristling  crest  whose  name  de- 
scribes it,  where  the  country  people  said 
that  witches  gathered  in  the  midnights, 
bent  on  unknown  ceremonies.  Standing 
in  the  mouth  of  this  fantastic  gorge,  Bo- 
hemia is  mysterious,  almost  sinister.  The 
sun  scarcely  enters.  Yonder  is  the  bat- 


tlement he  rises  over  late,  and  the  oth- 
er battlement  he  sets  beyond,  soon.  A 
glimpse,  and  then  night  descends. 

But  if  you  turn  your  back  upon  the 
gorge  and  enter  the  valley,  travelling 
northward,  all  is  changed.  Bohemia 
smiles  and  holds  out  caressing  arms  in 
the  summer  days  and  the  moonlight 
nights ;  in  the  summer  days,  when  the 
little  stream  of  Falling  Water  running 
yonder  laughs  under  its  sycamores  with 
the  mottled  arms;  in  the  moonlight 
nights,  when  the  dreamy  splendor  sleeps 
on  the  tulip-trees  and  the  winds  whisper. 
The  hills  sloping  to  the  Shenandoah  as- 
sume feminine  outlines:  the  wheat  rolls 
its  long  amber  waves  in  the  wind ;  and 
the  frou-frou  of  the  corn  mingles  with 
the  silence.  Then  you  follow  this  path 
through  the  long  grass  of  the  meadow, 
and  down  the  stream  to  the  wooden  bridge 
where  the  stage-road  crosses — the  stage- 
road  coming  from  the  west  across  the 
hills,  and  winding  up  the  mountain  yon- 
der, like  a  yellow  ribbon  with  an  emerald 
border,  through  the  Gap,  beyond  which, 
on  the  eastern  slope,  lies  the  village  of 
Piedmont. 

The  scene  is  wild,  but  that  only  makes 
it  lovelier.  Few  houses  are  in  view — 
those  you  see  perched  on  the  heights,  or 
in  the  little  gorges,  are  the  lodges  of  hunt- 
ers. Bohemia  has  nothing  whatever  to 
do  with  the  stupid  outer  world.  It  is 
not  a  part  of  that  real  world  at  all.  It  is 
Dream-land,  and  the  Dream-land  is  await- 
ing something  or  somebody. 


10 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


II. 


A    LOITERER. 

THE  stage  —  old-fashioned  and  deep- 
laden,  which  ran,  or  walked,  between  the 
railway  station  and  Piedmont  —  was  go- 
ing eastward  one  September  afternoon, 
and  stopped  on  the  western  range  of  hills 
to  rest  its  horses.  As  the  horses  had  just 
d  it  through  the  Shenandoah  and 
then  up  the  steep  road,  they  were  entitled 
to  that. 

A  young  fellow  with  brown  eyes,  in  a 
brown  travelling  suit,  and  carrying  in  his 
hand  a  breech-loading  carbine  and  jointed 
fishing-rod  strapped  together,  got  down 
from  the  stage.  After  looking  down  into 
the  valley,  he  said, 

"  I  think  I'll  stop  here,  driver." 

The  driver,  who  was  stooping  to  ex- 
amine his  linchpins,  raised  a  head  and 
neck  encased  in  an  ancient  felt  and  volu- 
minous bandanna,  and  responded  in  a 
friendly  way, 

"You  say  you'll  stop,  sir?" 

"  Yes ;  I'll  tell  you  good-bye  here." 

"  I  thought  you  were  booked  for  Pied- 
mont— " 

"So  I  was;  but  I  am  a  sort  of  bird 
that  lights  on  the  first  tree.  I  am  a  hunt- 
er by  trade.  I'll  take  lodging  at  some 
house  in  the  mountain  here,  and  stay  a 
few  days.  I  might  get  a  shot  at  a  buck." 

The  driver  nodded,  and  the  traveller 
said, 

"You   can  leave   my  valise   at  Pied- 
mont, and  I'll  send  for  it.     If  no  one  will 
DM,  I'll  call  for  it  on  my  way  back 
A-  York." 

"All  ri-ht,  sir." 

"I  a  house  yonder  on  the- side  of 
the  mountain;  that  would  suit  me.  Can 
you  tell  me  who  lives  there?" 

—Daddy  Welles  is  his  name." 

"  1-  he  a  hunter,  and  the  soil  of  man 
I  would  be  apt  to  like  P 

For  some  reason  best  known  to  him- 
self, the  driver  of  the  stai;v  uttered  a 
short  laugh.  The  traveller,  who  had  a 
pair  of  bright,  rovin_  in  a  ruddy 

face,  looked  at  him  with  euri«»ity. 

"  You  don't  answer  me,"  he  said. 


"  Oh,  the  Daddy's  a  great  hunter,"  the 
driver  said,  with  the  same  laugh. 

"  And  you  think  I'd  like  him  ?" 

The  driver  again  nodded. 

"  Oh  yes,  you'd  be  certain  to  like  the 
Daddy,"  he  said.  "  He's  one  of  the  best- 
natured  men  you  ever  met,  and  if  people 
tell  queer  stories  about  him,  that's  nei- 
ther here  nor  there.  It's  none  of  my 
business." 

"  Queer  stories  ?    What  do  you  mean  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  mean  anything  in  par- 
ticular; and  p'rhaps  I've  said  too  much. 
Oh  yes!  you'll  like  the  Daddy.  —  Here 
you  are,  gentlemen,  will  you  get  in  ?"  he 
added  to  the  passengers,  who  re-entered 
the  stage. 

"You  think  you'll  stop  at  Daddy 
Welles's,  sir,  do  you  ?"  said  the  driver  to 
the  young  traveller." 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  don't  let  him  know  I  said  peo- 
ple told  queer  stories  about  him.  It  might 
me  bad  luck." 

"I  won't." 


III. 


A    MOUNTAINEER. 


THE  stage  went  on  its  way,  and  the 
traveller,  with  fishing-rod  and  carbine 
swung  over  his  shoulder,  followed  it  down 
toward  the  bridge. 

His  appearance  was  that  of  a  city  man 
— his  walk  was  very  different.  He  had 
the  long,  swinging  gait  of  the  mountain- 
eer or  pedestrian  in  rough  countries.  At 
the  foot  of  the  hill  he  came  on  the  bridge, 
and  stood  still  for  some  minutes  looking 
at  the  landscape.  A  light  wind  stirred 
the  magical  colors  of  the  foliage  on  the 
of  the  mountain ;  a  translucent 
mi>t  descended  slowly:  from  a  field  of 
corn  beneath  came  up  a  low,  faint  rustle, 
like  the  rustle  of  a  woman's  dn- 
\\as  nearly  sunset,  and  lon^  shadows  ran 
I1... hernia,  or  lay  motionless,  rather, 
in  the  grass  and  on  the  leaves.  They 
whispered  like  the  corn,  and  then  were 
silent  au'ain.  Not  a  breath  stirred, 
hernia  had  re-entered  into  Dream-land. 


r 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


11 


The  young  man  nodded  to  the  valley 
— it  was  his  salute — and  said,  "  You  will 
do."  He  then  shifted  his  rod  and  car- 
bine to  the  other  shoulder,  and,  striking 
into  a  path  obliquing  to  the  right  from 
the  bridge,  entered  the  valley  beyond, 
followed  the  path  through  a  meadow, 
and,  crossing  a  brush  fence,  found  him- 
self upon  a  country  road  winding  south- 
ward in  the  direction  of  the  gorge. 
About  a  hundred  yards  farther  another 
path  went  up  the  slope.  Into  this  the 
traveller  turned.  As  the  ascent  was  grad- 
ual, it  did  not  tire  him  in  the  least,  and  in 
a  quarter  of  an  hour  he  reached  a  plateau, 
on  which  stood  a  small  mountain  house. 

The  house  was  within  fifty  yards  of 
him,  when  a  pack  of  deer-hounds  rushed 
out,  baying  furiously.  The  traveller  ad- 
vanced to  meet  them,  and  patted  them 
on  the  head,  whereat  they  changed  their 
minds,  and  leaped  up  to  be  caressed.  He 
then  looked  at  the  house.  It  was  of  wood, 
with  a  veranda  in  front,  whose  roof  was 
an  extension  of  that  of  the  building. 
The  yard  was  enclosed  with  split  palings, 
and  a  small  gate  with  a  horse-block  in 
front  gave  access  to  it.  In  rear  of  all 
was  a  stable,  and  a  building  probably 
used  as  a  kitchen. 

This  was  plain  and  home -like.  It 
seemed  to  please  the  new-comer.  He 
went  into  the  enclosure,  and  walked  up 
to  the  house.  As  he  reached  the  small 
porch,  the  host,  a  man  of  tall  stature, 
with  long  gray  hair  falling  on  his  shoul- 
ders, and  clad  from  head  to  foot  in  home- 
spun, made  his  appearance. 

The  traveller  seemed  to  have  travelled : 
he  was  off-hand. 

"  Are  you  Daddy  Welles  ?"  he  said. 

"  The  same,  friend." 

The  voice  uttering  these  words  was 
cordial,  and  a  guileless  smile  went  with 
them ;  but  the  visitor  inwardly  decided 
that  he  never  had  yet  seen  a  more  pierc- 
ing pair  of  eyes. 

"  My  name  is  Brantz  Elliot,  and  I  am 
on  my  way  to  New  York,"  said  the  vis- 
itor. "I  saw  your  house  from  the  hill 
yonder,  and  liked  its  looks.  People  tell 
me  there  is  a  great  deal  of  game  here ;  I 


thought  I'd  try  to  get  a  shot  at  it  before 
I  went  back." 

The  voice  communicating  these,  partic- 
ulars was  frank  and  straightforward.  It 
evidently  made  a  favorable  impression, 
but  the  master  of  the  mansion  as  evident- 
ly hesitated. 

"  I've  all  the  money  I  want,  and  of 
course  I  expect  to  pay,"  said  the  traveller. 

Still  the  old  mountaineer  seemed  du- 
bious, though  it  was  plain  that  the  allu- 
sion to  a  money  payment  had  strength- 
ened his  good  opinion  of  his  visitor. 

"  Well,  well,  friend,  we'll  have  time  to 
talk  about  things  to-morrow,"  he  said. 
"  You'll  stay  to-night — plenty  o'  room." 

He  went  in,  followed  by  his  guest,  to  a 
small,  low-pitched  apartment  on  the  right 
of  the  entrance.  Here  everything  was 
very  plain,  but  very  neat.  On  the  nar- 
row mantel-piece  stood  a  wooden  clock, 
and  there  were  some  cheap  prints  on  the 
whitewashed  walls.  The  furniture  was 
simple  enough;  a  few  stiff  "split -bot- 
tomed "  chairs  stood  against  the  wall, 
and  two  others,  with  rockers,  at  the  cor- 
ners of  the  fireplace.  In  the  middle  of 
the  room  was  a  round  table  of  stained 
pine,  holding  a  family  Bible,  a  copy  of 
the  "Pilgrim's  Progress,"  "Short  Ser- 
mons to  Believers,"  and  a  temperance 
work  in  handsome  binding,  entitled  "  Fly 
the  Bowl." 

"  Sit  down,  friend,"  Daddy  Welles  said, 
drawing  forward  one  of  the  rocking- 
chairs.  "  You  must  be  hungry,  but  my 
old  'oman's  busy  at  supper,  and  here  she 
is  to  say  it's  ready,  I  ruther  think." 

This  was  followed  by  the  appearance 
of  the  old  woman,  a  motherly  dame  in  a 
snuff-colored  gown  and  a  frilled  cap,  who 
came  in,  smiled  in  a  friendly  way,  and 
welcomed  the  visitor. 

"  Supper's  ready,  Daddy,"  she  said. 


IV. 

DADDY    WELLES    EN    FAMILLE. 

DADDY  WELLES  led  the  way  across  a 
narrow  passage,  decorated  with  a  pair  of 
deer's  antlers  supporting  a  rifle,  a  hand- 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


net,  and  some  fishing-rods,  into  the  room 
opposite,  where  a  table  was  spread  with 
an  excellent  supper.  All  about  this  room 
was  plain,  like  the  former,  and  the  table- 
service  was  as  unassuming.  The  plates 
and  cups  were  of  cheap  white  china,  and 
the  knives  and  two -pronged  steel  forks 
had  buck-horn  handles.  The  table  was 
of  pine,  and  the  chairs  had  split  bottoms  ; 
but  then  there  was  smoking  venison,  and 
wheat  and  corn  bread,  and  good  coffee 
with  rich  cream,  and  the  chairs  looked 
extremely  comfortable. 

Mr.  llrantz  Elliot,  traveller,  evidently 
took  this  view  of  things  and  congratu- 
lated himself.  He  was  probably  accus- 
tomed, if  an  opinion  could  be  formed 
from  his  dress  and  general  appearance,  to 
much  more  imposing  menages,  but  possi- 
bly liked  this  better. 

As  they  were  sitting  down,  a  girl  came 
in  and  made  a  shy  courtesy  to  the  stran- 
ger. She  was  very  poorly  clad,  but  very 
pretty.  Her  dress  was  a  checked  linsey, 
confined  at  the  waist  by  a  black  patent- 
leather  belt  with  an  imitation  silver 
buckle,  worth  only  a  few  cents,  and  her 
shoes  and  stockings  were  of  the  com- 
monest material.  In  spite  of  these  draw- 
the  rustic  beauty  of  the  girl  im- 
pressed the  vi>itor.  She  had  a  fine  suit 
of  dark  hair  which  fell  upon  her  shoul- 
i'chind,  and  very  largo  eyes,  which 
were  half  hidden  by  long  eyelashes. 
bynen  made  her  awkward;  but 
the  young  man  said  to  himself  that  some 
<»f  thi-i-  day-  this  mountain  maid  was 
probablv  be  a  beauty. 

!!••  had  not  much  lime  to  look  at  her 
at  the  moment.  There  is  something 
even  more  attractive,  than  a  pretty  face 
to  a  heart  v  Yonn<_r  fellow,  who  has  bn-ak- 
fa-trd  early  and  had  no  dinner:  this  is 
a  good  Mip|H-r.  Mr.  II rant/.  Elliot,  there- 
fore, concentrated  his  attention  on  the 
vrnisnn  ami  eolL-e,  and  subsequently  re- 
tired with  I>add\  Welles  t«>  the  room  op- 
po-itr,  to  which  a  lamp  had  hern  taken, 
as  it  was  ni^lit  now,  in  a  state  of  perfect 
physical  and  mental  satisfaction.  !!•• 
•  idently  pleased  with  his  ipiarters, 
and,  drawin-jf  a  ci^ar-ease  from  his  pock- 


et, asked  if  any  one  minded  his  smok- 
ing. 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Daddy  Welles,  with  tl 
guileless  smile  which  seemed  to  be  tl 
habitual  expression  of  his  features ; 
mostly  smoke  myself  after  supper,  friend. 
I  s'pose  you  don't  keer  about  this  sort  of 
thing?"' 

He  went  to  a  corner  and  produced  a 
box  containing  smoking-tobacco,  and  red- 
clay  pipes  with  long  stems  of  reed  root. 

"  You  are  mistaken,"  said  Brantz  El- 
liot, promptly  depositing  his  cigar-case 
on  the  table  and  filling  one  of  the  pipes. 
"  I  like  a  pipe  a  great  deal  better  than  a 
cigar.  Cigars  arc  rather  sloppy." 

He  then  sat  down,  and  they  began 
smoke,  falling  into  easy  conversation. 

"  I  think  I've  come  to  the  right  place,' 
said   Elliot.     "This  looks   like   a   g( 
neighborhood  for  game — they  told 
I'd  find  a  plenty  around  Piedmont." 

"Well,  Bohemia  beats  the  Piedmont 
neighborhood  for  that  a  long  way, 
friend,"  Daddy  Welles  said,  smoking 
tranquilly.  "You  see,  around  Pied- 
mont's thickly  settled.  Bohemia's  wild- 
er, as  stands  to  reason,  being  mostb 
mounting." 

The  word  "Bohemia"  thus  used  twi< 
by  his  host  plainly  excited  the  curiositj 
of  his  guest. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  Bohemia 
he  asked. 

"  Well,  I  mean  here  in  the  mounting,' 
said  Daddy  Welles.  "People  call  the 
deestrict  here  Bohemia,  as  they  call  an- 
other deestrict  in  these  parts  Arabia* 
I  don't  know  why  it  is,  but  hereabouts 
was  called  Bohemia  as  far  back  as  when 
I  was  a  boy." 

"  Well,  that's  odd  enough,"  said  El- 
liot. "  It's  not  a  bad  name,  and  I  rather 
think  I'm  something  of  a  Bohemian  my- 
self. I  like  to  rove  around  better  than 
living  in  cities.  The  houses  are  bigger 
and  finer  in  town,  but  I  don't  care  mucl 
f«>r  that.  Every  man  follows  his  owi 
taste,  you  know." 

*  "Arabia"  is  the  name  given  to  one  of  tl 
neighborhoods,  or  precincts,  in  Clarke  county. 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


13 


"  Jest  so,  friend,  that's  reasonable,"  said 
the  host,  much  pleased  with  his  guest. 

"I've  been  to  the  Springs,"  Elliot  ex- 
plained further;  "but  there's  too  much 
of  town  even  there — it's  pretty  much  all 
dress  and  show.  I'd  rather  g<>  deer-stalk- 
ing—  I  have  done  a  good  deal  of  it  in 
Scotland ;  so  I  thought  I'd  stop  here  for 
two  or  three  days,  or  a  week,  and  try  my 
luck.  My  valise  has  gone  on  to  Piedmont, 
but  that's  no  great  matter.  What  puzzles 
me  is  to  know  where  you  are  going  to 
put  me." 

"Never  you  mind  about  that,"  Daddy 
Welles  said.  "  There'll  be  no  trouble,  and 
if  we  can  accommodate  you,  I'll  go  for 
your  baggage  to-morrow.  I'm  going 
over  to  Piedmont,  any  way,  as  my  darter 
Nelly — that's  her  you  saw  at  supper  — 
says  she  wants  to  see  the  circus." 

"Is  there  to  be  a  circus  at  Piedmont?" 

"  They  say  it's  to  be  there  to-morrow." 

"  \Yell,  if  there's  anything  I  like,  it's  a 
circus!"  Elliot  said,  with  animation.  "It's 
ahead  of  the  opera,  in  my  opinion.  I 
reckon,  as  you  say  in  Virginia,  there'll  be 
no  trouble  about  taking  me  as  a  lodger 
for  a  few  days,  and  we  can  all  go  for  the 
valise,  and  then  to  the  circus." 

The  manly  delight  of  the  circus-lover 
evidently  pleased  Daddy  Welles. 

"  To  be  sure,"  he  said.  "  I've  got  a 
spring-wagon  that'll  take  us  all — I  mean 
you  and  me  and  Nelly ;  the  old  'oman 
mostly  stays  at  home." 

"  The  wagon  's  the  thing,  Daddy 
Welles,"  said  Mr.  Brantz  Elliot,  with  great 
satisfaction ;  and  as  he  yawned  soon  af- 
terward, his  host  rose  and  said  he  reckon- 
ed he  was  sleepy.  Elliot  replied  that  he 
was  a  little  tired,  and  so  he  was  conduct- 
ed up-stairs  to  his  bedroom. 

The  chamber  into  which  Daddy  Welles 
led  the  way,  lamp  in  hand,  was  a  small 
room,  with  a  dormer-window  in  front  and 
another  in  rear.  A  single  glance  showed 
Elliot  that  the  chamber  belonged  to  a 
woman  or  a  girl  —  probably  to  Nelly 
Welles.  There  was  a  small  white  bed 
with  one  pillow,  an  old  toilet-table  with  a 
cracked  looking-glass,  and  on  the  mantel- 
piece stood  two  cheap  jars  with  colored 


pictures  pasted  upon  them,  and  holding 
some  autumn  flowers.  There  were  more 
(lowers  at  one  window  —  creepers  in  a 
rude  box.  Cheap  white  curtains  hung  in 
front  of  the  windows,  and  on  a  small  ta- 
ble in  the  middle  of  the  room  were  a  few 
tattered  old  books,  and  a  girl's  work-la- 
ke!, which  had  probably  been  overlooked. 
It  was  not  the  sleeping  -  room  of  a  man, 
evidently,  but  a  sort  of  bird's -nest,  and 
the  bird  was  evidently  a  female. 

"This  is  your  daughter  Nelly's  room, 
Daddy  Welles,"  Elliot  said,  stopping  at 
the  threshold,  "  and  you  are  turning  her 
out  on  my  account.  That  won't  do !  I 
can  sleep  anywhere." 

"  Never  you  mind  about  that,  friend," 
returned  his  host.  "  Yes,  this  is  Nelly's 
room,  but  there's  her  bed  in  our  room 
where  she  slept  when  she  was  little — 
though  she's  not  so  big  yit." 

Elliot  shook  his  head  doubtfully,  and 
said, 

"  I  really  can't  think  of  that.  She'd 
have  no  opinion  of  me  if  I  deprived  her 
of  her  room." 

"  Who— Nelly  ?  Bless  you,  you  don't 
know  Nelly.  She  never  thinks  about 
herself.  You  couldn't  please  her  better." 

"  Are  you  certain  she  won't  mind  ?" 

"  To  be  sure  she  won't." 

"  Well,  it  will  be  for  only  a  few  days 
at  most.  Everything's  so  neat  and  nice 
here  that  I  begin  to  think  more  than  ever 
that  I  had  a  streak  of  luck  when  I  turn- 
ed into  the  path  to  your  house,  Daddy 
AVelles." 

The  off-hand  and  friendly  manner  of 
the  speaker  evidently  had  its  effect  on 
the  Daddy.  He  bade  his  guest  good- 
night, and  on  rejoining  his  family  deliv- 
ered a  mild  eulogium  upon  him. 


V. 


A    STARTLING    INCIDENT. 

BRANTZ  ELLIOT  retired  promptly, 
stretching  himself  luxuriously  in  his 
small  bed,  which  was  only  a  straw  mat- 
tress— but  then  the  sheets  were  as  white 
as  snow,  and  fragrant  from  the  rose-leaves 


14 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


in  which,  after  the  country  fashion,  they 
had  been  packed. 

This  attention  was  due,  of  course,  to 
the  old  woman  or  to  Nelly  ;  and  that  made 
him  think  of  the  girl  whose  bed  he  had 
invaded  so  unceremoniously  —  sending  her 
away  t<>  sleep  where  she  slept  "  when  she 
was  little."  She  was  a  very  handsome 
child,  indeed,  he  informed  himself  —  for 
she  was  no  more  than  a  child.  He  never 
had  seen  finer  eyes,  though  she  was  so 
shy  that  he  had  scarcely  been  able  to  ob- 
tain a  good  look  at  them  ;  and  her  feat- 
vvere  delicate  and  lady  -like,  by  no 


means  such  as  he  would  have  expected 
in  a  rustic  maiden  of  the  plainer  class. 
Altogether,  she  \vas  an  agreeable  feature 
of  the  mountain  establishment,  and  adorn- 
ed her  somewhat  rude  surroundings  like 
the  flowers  on  the  mantel-piece  and  in  the 
window. 

"  I  hope  she  won't  feel  any  malice 
against  me  for  turning  her  out  of  her 
room,"  he  muttered,  smiling  a  little  and 
yawning.  "  I  would  rather  be  friends 
with  everybody  —  and  decidedly  I  like 
Daddy  Welles  and  his  old  'oman  ;  and  I 
to  shoot  a  buck  and  express  it  to 
the  Huh,  and  when  I  go  back  they'll  pass 
rcsoluti"iis  and  give  me  a  reception  !" 

A  delighted  extension  of  the  limbs,  fol- 
by  another  yawn,  succeeded  these 
words.  It  then  became  plain,  as  Mr. 
Brantz  Elliot's  .  in  to  close,  that 

he  \\a<  thinking  in  a  vague  sort  of  way 
of  tli-  I  tin-  evening. 

"Bohemia!"  lie  muttered;  "that's  a 
queer  name!  And  thru  the  queer  stories 
about  I>addy  AVi-11.  '-ems  to  be 

a  plain  enough  old  fellow,  with  nothing 
mysterious  about  him.  U  In-  a  brigand 
of  the  mountains?  Jle  don't  look  like 
it,  and  his  old  'oinati  is  not  in  the  1,-a-t 
my  id.-a  of  a  'brigand's  bride.'  And 


then  \elly  :  she's  an 
of  a  maiden  ;  can't  read  or  write,  I  sup- 
pose —  y«-s  she  can,  there  arc  the  old 
book-  mi  the  table;  but  —  her  eyes  —  shy, 
but  there  is  nothing  at  all  sly  about  her 
—  i/nccr  atnrirs?  The  driver  said  — 
4  <jueer  stories  '  —  I  wonder  —  " 
Mr.  Brantz  Elliot  was  fast  asleep. 


. 


s 


He  was  waked  by  a  wild  and  startling 
cry,  which  rang  through  the  whole  estab- 
lishment, and  made  him  rise  suddenly  in 
bed  and  listen. 

Now  to  be  aroused  at  midnight  — 
was  about  that  hour  —  by  a  shrill  and 
piercing  shriek,  apparently,  in  a  strange 
house  in  the  lonely  solitude  of  a  moun- 
tain, is  not  agreeable.  It  tries  the  nerves. 
In  one's  dwelling-house  or  hotel  in  a  city 
there  is  the  bell  to  ring,  or  a  burglar  alarm 
to  sound ;  or  other  resource  against  house- 
breakers and  possible  murder.  On  the 
present  occasion  the  surroundings  of  M 
Brantz  Elliot  wrere  quite  different, 
was  in  a  secluded  fastness  of  the  Blue 
Ridge,  in  the  midst  of  strange  people,  of 
whom  "  queer  stories  "  were  told  ;  and 
he  had  suddenly  been  aroused  at  dead 
of  night  by  a  piercing  cry — was  it  one 
of  pain  or  menace  ?  What  did  it  mean  ? 

Sitting  up  in  bed,  the  young  man  lis- 
tened. The  moon  had  risen  above  the 
mountain,  as  a  long  yellow  bar  of  light 
upon  the  floor  of  the  room  indicated. 
He  could  hear  the  melancholy  sigh  of  a 
low  wind  in  the  foliage  without.  AVit 
this  exception,  there  was  profound 
lence. 

All  at  once,  within  a  few  feet  of  hi 
apparently,  the  wild  cry  rang  out  again 
— a  cry  shrill,  piercing,  and  filling  the 
night.  Brantz  Elliot  started  back;  then 
he  burst  out  laughing.  The  cry  was  ar- 
ticulate now.  It  was  "whip  —  poor  — 
will !"  In  fact,  a  harmless  member 
that  fraternity,  which  loves  the  vicinit 
of  human  dwellings,  had  lit  in  an  oak 
nearly  brushing  one  of  the  dormer-wi 

and  uttered  its  startling  cry. 
the  young  man,  according  to  his  habit, 
had  raised  the  sash  to  admit  the  fresh  air 
before  retiring,  the  sound  had  rung  in  his 
ear>  like  the  notes  of  a  clarion. 

"  Well—  that's  not  in  the  least  HI 
Broadway  or  Fifth  Avenue,  at  least 
he  muttered,  laughing.  "  I  suppose  tl 
night  patrol  will  retire  pretty  soon." 

A  dusky  shadow  flitted  across  the  win- 
dow as  lie  spoke.  The  whip-poor-will 
had  already  flown  elsewhere,  as  a  di? 
complaint  a  moment  afterward  indicate 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


15 


and  Elliot  was  about  to  drop  asleep  again 
when  IK'  heard  voices  beneath  his  window. 
lit'  lay  still  for  some  moments  listening — 
there  were  the  voices.  This  was  curious 
—  it  was  at  least  midnight.  Who  was 
abroad  at  so  late  an  hour?  He  got  up 
and  went  to  the  window.  As  he  reach- 
ed it  and  looked  out,  he  saw  two  dusky 
ligmvs  disappearing  in  the  shadow  of 
some  evergreens  near  the  house. 

Interested  more  and  more  by  this  in- 
cident, Elliot  remained  at  the  window, 
and  soon  saw  a  figure  come  back  through 
the  moonlight  and  re-enter  the  house. 
This  was  the  figure  of  Daddy  Welles. 
From  a  hospitable  desire,  no  doubt,  not 
to  disturb  his  guest,  he  entered  noiseless- 
ly. Then  a  slight  sound  on  the  stair- 
case indicated  that  the  Daddy  had  cau- 
tiously mounted  to  the  room  opposite 
that  occupied  by  his  visitor,  the  door  of 
which  was  heard  to  close  quietly. 

Brantz  Elliot  went  back  to  bed  in  a 
state  of  great  curiosity.  What  did  it 
mean  ?  Old  rustics  like  Daddy.  Welles 
did  not  go  to  bed  at  nine  o'clock,  and 
then  hold  business  interviews  subsequent- 
ly with  people  at  midnight.  Then  the 
voices  had  been  low  and  guarded.  What 
could  it  all  mean? 

"  I  don't  know,"  Brantz  Elliot  mutter- 
ed, as  if  somebody  had  asked  him  the 
question ;  "  but  I'll  try  and  find  out  the 
mystery  before  I  go  back." 

He  then  fell  asleep. 


VI. 

PIEDMONT   WAKES    UP. 

PIEDMONT  was  an  ancient  and  stereo- 
typed village  lying  east  of  the  Blue 
Ridge,  a  mile  or  two  from  the  Gap. 

The  place  had  been  finished  for  a  num- 
ber of  years,  and  life  had  gone  to  sleep 
there.  The  arrival  of  the  daily  stage  was 
the  one  event  of  the  twenty-four  hours. 
As  this  lumbered  up  to  the  antique  tav- 
ern, with  the  battered  sign-board  hanging 
at  an  angle  of  forty-five  degrees  from  a 
bough  of  the  aged  elm  in  front  of  the 
hostelry,  Piedmont  nearly  opened  its  eyes ; 


the  loungers  on  the  tavern  porch  were  al- 
most interested.  They  were  not  at  all  in- 
terested in  the  outer  world  or  its  people ; 
but  then  human  nature  must  absolutely 
have  something  to  stare  at,  even  to  spec- 
ulate about.  Travellers  afforded  this  sol- 
are.  IVaee  or  war,  in  Europe  or  else- 
where, were  not  matters  of  interest,  but 
the  arrival  of  the  stage  was  an  event. 
In  the  absence  of  this  distraction  from 
ennui  they  attended  to  the  business  of 
their  neighbors.  This  was  done  with  as- 
siduity and  almost  with  energy,  and  a 
scandal  aroused  in  these  worthy  people 
a  sort  of  mild  excitement.  If  it  was  a 
slight  and  feeble  scandal,  they  nursed  it 
and  set  it  to  grow,  until  it  attained  cred- 
itable proportions ;  if  it  was  strong  and 
full-grown,  they  patted  it  on  the  back 
and  made  the  most  of  it,  smiling  and 
whispering  about  it  under  the  breath. 
In  other  words,  the  human  mind  was 
cramped  at  Piedmont.  There  was  no 
public  library ;  and,  after  reading  the 
newspapers,  there  was  nothing  else  to  do 
but  discuss,  in  a  feeble  and  vacuous  man- 
ner, the  affairs  of  their  neighbors.  The 
days  succeeded  and  resembled  each  oth- 
er. Piedmont  and  the  Piedmontese  were 
asleep. 

It  was  very  much  like  other  towns.  In 
the  suburbs  were  two  churches,  belonging 
to  the  Episcopalians  and  Methodists.  The 
main  street  was  broad,  and  there  were 
several  shops  and  private  residences  upon 
it,  some  of  the  latter  quite  handsome, 
with  lawns  and  large  trees  in  front. 
The  town-pump  stood  at  a  corner,  with 
a  warning  to  drivers  not  to  water  stock 
at  it.  Near  one  extremity  of  the  main 
street  was  the  blacksmith's  shop,  where 
small  boys  watched  with  delight  the 
grimy  bare-armed  smith  hammering  out 
sparks  to  the  anvil  chorus.  In  front  of 
the  stores  were  boxes  with  rolls  of  dry 
goods  upon  them ;  and  the  smug  clerks, 
afflicted  with  ennui,  were  generally  seen 
standing  in  the  doors,  watching  maidens 
with  an  attack  of  the  "  pull-back  "  mania 
lifting  their  skirts  as  they  crossed  the 
dusty  or  muddy  street. 

The  tavern  was  near  the  middle  of  the 


16 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


village,  and  was  the  favorite  resort  of 
idlers.  These  were  occupied  general- 
ly in  laboriously  killing  time.  Some 
smoked,  and  others  chewed  tobacco,  ex- 
pectorating thoughtfully  at  intervals. 
An  observation  from  any  one  went  a 
great  way,  and  occasioned  meditation. 
When  weary  of  the  burden  of  thought, 
they  dropped  into  an  apartment  where  a 
personage,  generally  in  his  shirt-sleeves, 
disseminated  liquids  behind  a  counter. 
Having  thus  refreshed  existence,  the 
idlers  came  back  to  the  benches  on  the 
porch  of  the  tavern,  and  resumed  the 
sleepy  talk  until  dinner-time,  when  they 
dispersed  —  for  an  hour  or  so.  Then 
Piedmont  subsided  into  its  sleep  of 
sleeps.  Even  the  banging  of  the  anvil 
chorus  sunk  to  silence;  not  a  cur  was 
heard  to  yelp;  not  a  hoof -stroke  re- 
sounded on  the  streets.  The  silent  Blue 
Ridge  leaned  above,  with  the  stage-road 
descending  through  the  Gap,  as  if  it  led 
from  Drowsy-land  to  a  country  of  the 
same  description.  The  wind  had  not 
even  strength  to  move  the  leaves  of  the 
trees;  and  the  long  shadows  crawled, 
evidently  not  at  all  in  a  hurry,  toward 
evening  an-1  the  representative  of  Pied- 
mont— sleep. 

One  morning,  however  —  it  was  the 
morning  after  the  day  upon  which  this 
narrative  begin* —  a  great  change  came 
over  the  village  of  Piedmont.  From 
mouth  to  mouth  passed  the  startling  in- 
telligence, "  The  circus  is  coming!" 

The  fact  had  been  announced  by  gi- 
gantic posters  on  the  walls  and  fences, 
containing  highly-colored  representations 
of  ll\  ing-trapeze  performers  ;  living  horses 
in  splendid  capari-mi- ;  Hying  bare-back 
rid'T-,  male  and  female,  fur  the  m«»>t  part 
nearly  drMitnte  as  to  clothing;  and  a  MI- 
pcrb  Mr.  Mrrmiian  in  party-colored  cos- 
tume, who  jumped  and  grimaced  at  the 
crack  of  the  ring-master's  whip.  There 
were  also  pictures  of  imposing  wild  ani- 
mals f«T  it  was  a  circus  and  menauvrir 
combined  that  was  coining.  Elephants. 
nearly  of  natural  si/.i-,  stepped  carefully 
o\cr  their  prostrate  masters  on  the  post- 
ers ;  and  sea-lions,  giraffes,  rhinoceroses, 


and  other  wonders  of  more  than  life-size 
filled  the  bosoms  of  small  boys  with  wild 
enthusiasm.  The  procession  was  to  enter 
the  town  that  morning,  and  perform  in 
the  evening — at  which  the  village  of 
Piedmont  opened  its  eyes  and  grew  wide 
awake.  The  tavern  porch  was  crowded 
with  loungers,  who  expectorated  fearful- 
ly. The  bar  within  did  a  tremendous 
business.  If  intelligence  had  arrived  at 
the  moment  that  the  empire  of  Russia 
had  been  incorporated  with  the  Brit- 
ish dominions,  the  announcement  would 
have  been  received  with  complete  indif- 
ference. 


VII. 


A  TRIFLE   LEADING  TO   A   GREAT  DEAL. 


•I 


THE  triumphal  entry  was  a  triumph- 
ant affair.  The  cages  containing  the 
wild  animals  were  in  rear  of  all;  pre- 
ceding them  were  the  elephants;  in 
front  of  all  came  a  mighty  car  of  blue 
and  gold,  filled  with  the  performers  of 
the  troupe,  with  excited  musicians,  and 
drawn  by  twenty -four  party -colo 
horses. 

The  drums  roared;  the  trombones 
groaned ;  the  French  bugles  split  the 
air;  the  immense  crowd  of  small  boys 
and  negroes  who  accompanied  the  pro- 
cession uttered  cheers ;  and  the  only  por- 
tion of  Piedmont  which  did  not  relish  the 
ceremony  was  the  horse-flesh  tied  to  posts 
here  and  there  on  the  street.  There  was 
danger  to  bridles  as  the  pageant  drew 
on,  and  the  riders  hastily  looked  to  their 
property. 

One  person  did  not  seem  under  any 
apprehension  in  reference  to  his  own 
horses.  This  was  a  gentleman  in  a  light 
carriage,  with  a  young  lady  beside  him. 
lit-  drove  two  very  fine  animals,  and 
seemed  to  have  no  difficulty  in  control- 
ling them,  as  he  drove  past  the  long  line 
of  party-colored  animals,  in  a  direction 
opposite  to  that  taken  by  the  procession. 

But  the  moment  came.  He  was  not 
to  pass.  The  carriage  had  just  reached 
a  point  opposite  the  front  wheel  of  the 
chariot  of  the  circus  men,  when  a  deaf- 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


17 


ening  crash  from  a  combination  of  brass 
instruments  burst  into  their  faces.  Ter- 
ror maddened  them.  They  reared,  wheel- 
ed, caught  the  delicate  wheel  of  the  vehi- 
cle in  the  huge  mill -burr  affair  of  the 
chariot — and  then  horses,  gentleman,  and 
young  lady  seemed  to  disappear  in  one 
confused  mass  beneath  the  wheels. 

The  dust,  no  doubt,  produced  this  con- 
fused impression.  They  were  not  really 
beneath  the  wheels.  The  gentleman  and 
his  daughter  were  standing  unhurt,  a  mo- 
ment afterward,  upon  the  sidewalk. 

One  of  the  circus  men  had  swung  from 
the  high  perch  in  front  of  the  car,  and 
caught  the  young  lady  in  his  anus  as  she 
was  about  to  fall  under  the  wheels.  This 
act  of  agility  could  only  have  been  per- 
formed by  an  acrobat ;  but  who  the  per- 
son was,  or  what  was  his  place  in  the 
troop,  no  one  knew,  inasmuch  as  he  had 
immediately  taken  away  his  arms  when 
the  young  lady  was  safe  on  her  feet,  re- 
mounted the  car,  and  the  whole  had  dis- 
appeared in  the  dust-cloud. 

The  gentleman  and  his  companion  were 
looking  somewhat  ruefully  at  the  fract- 
ured wheel  of  their  vehicle  —  the  horses 
had  each  been  brought  under  control 
again  —  wrhcn  a  family  carriage,  contain- 
ing two  ladies,  drove  up  and  stopped. 

"  Good  heavens !  my  dear  Colonel  Gary ! 
an  accident  ?" 

It  was  the  elder  of  the  two  ladies  in 
the  family  carriage  who  uttered  this  pret- 
ty exclamation. 

"A  slight  one — it  really  is  of  no  im- 
portance, my  dear  Mrs.  Armstrong.  It 
was  my  fault ;  but  my  horses  are  so  ex- 
cellently broken  that  I  am  imprudent. 
An  hour's  detention  will  be  all." 

Meanwhile  the  gentleman's  companion 
had  fraternized  with  the  younger  occu- 
pant of  the  carriage,  whom  she  evidently 
loved  very  much,  as  she  kissed  her  with 
enthusiasm,  though  the  syllogism  may  ap- 
pear doubtful  to  the  cynics. 

"  Do  go  home  with  us,  or  at  least  let  us 
take  dear  Frances !"  exclaimed  the  elder 
lady. 

And  when  Colonel  Gary  declined  this 
invitation  with  smiles  and  great  courtesy, 


the  lady  shook  her  head,  as  if  she  really 
could  not  consent  to  leave  them  in  their 
extremity.  Persuaded  at  last  that  things 
were  not  so  bad,  as  the  carriage  was  led 
away  to  the  shop  by  a  servant,  she  made 
more  pretty,  friendly  speeches,  and  smiled 
anew;  and  then,  bowing  with  fascinating 
grace  to  the  gentleman  and  his  compan- 
ion, she  directed  her  respectable  old  black 
coachman  to  drive  on. 


VIII. 

A    BEAUTY    WHO    YAWNS. 

SHE  was  a  very  handsome  person  in- 
deed, this  elderly  occupant  of  the  family 
carriage,  which  —  returning  apparently 
from  a  shopping  expedition — now  drove 
out  of  Piedmont  in  a  southern  direc- 
tion. 

She  was  fifty,  and  had  the  air  of  thirty- 
five  ;  but  it  did  not  impress  you  as  in  the 
least  in  bad  taste,  any  more  than  her 
dress,  which  certainly  was  very  rich  for  a 
morning  dress.  You  realized,  however, 
at  a  single  glance  that  this  lady  could  do 
what  others  could  not.  She  had  taste, 
and  whatever  she  put  on  became  her. 
Even  her  French  vivacity  did  not  impress 
people  as  insincere.  She  wras  fascinating, 
indeed,  in  her  dress  and  address,  and  won 
people.  As  to  the  possibility  that  under 
the  caressing  smile  of  the  exquisitely 
dressed  young-middle-aged  beauty  there 
were  traits  not  precisely  as  fascinating  as 
the  smile — to  inquire  thus  were  to  inquire 
too  curiously.  Don't  go  below  the  sur- 
face if  you  wish  to  get  on  in  the  world. 
A  great  deal  lies  beneath  surfaces.  Mrs. 
Armstrong  of  "  Trianon "  was  quite 
charming — and  was  not  that  enough  ? 

It  was  her  daughter  Juliet,  aged  twen- 
ty-three, with  superb  dark  hair,  superb 
dark  eyes,  and  an  air  of  queenly  compos- 
ure, who  leaned  back  in  the  cushioned 
seat  beside  her.  Juliet  was  unquestion- 
ably a  beauty.  She  was  tall,  with  a  fig- 
ure of  extreme  grace  in  every  movement, 
and  an  apparent  indifference  to  everybody 
and  everything  around  her  which  was 
piquant,  if  not  engaging.  She  was  look- 


18 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


ing  out  of  the  window  when  her  mamma 
said,  with  light  annoyance, 

"  My  dear  Juliet !  I  really  don't  believe 
you've  heard  a  word  I  have  said.  You 
certainly  have  not  asked  where  we  are 
going." 

"Going,  mamma?  I  thought  we  were 
going  home,  as  we  have  finished  shop- 
ping—" 

"  And  nearly  been  finished  by  that  hor- 
rid Miss  Grundy  ourselves !"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Armstrong.  "  Good  heavens !  was 
there  ever  such  a  chatterbox !  She  posi- 
tively paralyzes  me !  And  you  go  away 
after  meeting  her  with  the  fearful  convic- 
tion that  she  will  tear  your  character  to 
pieces  for  the  amusement  of  the  next 
friend  she  meets !" 

"It  is  very  probable.  I  suppose  she  is 
fond  of  talking,  as  Piedmont  is  a  very 
dull  place,"  returned  Miss  Juliet,  in  an 
uninterested  tone. 

"  Frightfully  dull,  and  the  arrival  of 
the  circus  must  be  a  blessing  to  them. 
Would  you  like  to  go  ?" 

"To  the  circus?" 

The  young  lady  stopped  before  the 
word  "  circus  "  for  an  instant  to  indulge 
in  a  slight  yawn. 

"  My  dear  child!"  her  mother  exclaim- 
ed, "you  are  positively  yawning!  This 
life  in  the  country,  with  no  resource  but 
riding  out  now  and  then,  is  wearying  you 
to  death." 

"  It  is  tiresome  enough,  mamma,"  Miss 
Juliet  said,  candidly. 

irfully  so,  and  that  is  the  reason 
why  1  asked  if  you  would  not  like  to  go 
to  the  circus.  I  took  you  once  when 
you  wore  a  child,  and  you  seemed  to  en- 
joy  it." 

"Go  to  the  circus?  I  don't  know. 
Do  ladies  go?  I  really  don't  can-.  Yes 
— no — that  i>,  ju-t  as  you  j>! 

The   elder   lady    sighed.      It    was  very 
plain    that    Mi>s   Juliet   was  considerably 
boivd,  and  in  a  very  indifferent  si 
mind,  indeed. 

"The  trouble  \v«mld  be  about  an  M 
said  the  youn^  lady,  looking  «»ut  of  the 
window.     "  You  know  the  ni^ht  air  ;rivr> 
you  the  rheumatism,  and   I   should  not 


like  to   go  by  myself  with  L^ncle  Wil- 
liam " — this  was  the  old  driver. 

Her  mother  smiled  with  the  air  of 
person    who    has    already    provided   fc 
things. 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  might  find  soi 
one  to  escort  you — a  good  many  persoi 
will  no  doubt  be  going.     What  a  lov( 
day,  and  just  see  what  superb  corn  !    G( 
eral  Lascelles  is  an  excellent  manager." 

Miss  Juliet  contemplated  the  far-reacl 
ing  expanse  of  corn,  with  its  ripe  tassel 
and  broad  blades,  rustling  in  the  light 
breeze,  and  said, 

"  Why,  this  is  the  road  to  Wye,  mam- 
ma." 

"  Yes,  my  dear,  I  thought  I  would  call 
on  our  way  home.  It  really  is  an  age 
since  we  have  been  to  see  Mrs.  Lascelles ; 
she  is  a  most  agreeable  person,  and  Gen- 
eral Lascelles  and  myself  are  great  friends." 

"  I  like  Mrs.  Lascelles  very  much,"  said 
Miss  Juliet,  composedly,  "  and  Anna  Gray. 
She  is  one  of  the  sweetest  people  I  have 
ever  met." 

"  Well,  my  dear,  I  am  glad  I  thought 
of  calling,  as  it  seems  to  please  you.  We 
shall  find  Mrs.  Lascelles  and  Anna  at 
home,  I  have  no  doubt,  as  they  rarely  go 
out.  It  is  not  so  certain  that  we  shall 
see  the  general  or  Mr.  Douglas  Lascelles." 

"  Very  doubtful,  I  suppose,"  the  young 
lady  said,  with  indifference. 

"  Do  you  like  Mr.  Douglas 

"  I  scarcely  know  him.     There   ha 
been  no  parties  lately,  you  know,  and 
n.  v.  r  comes  to  see  us." 

"He  very  seldom  goes  into  society 
hear,  which  is  a  pity,  as  he  is  very  hand- 
some, and  a  young  man  of  excellent  man- 
ners. He  ought  not  to  be  so  unsoc 
I  am  informed,  however,  that  he  reads 
great  deal,  and  is  very  intellectual/' 

"Is  he?"  said  Miss  Juliet,  serenely. 

"People  say  so,  but  he  is  very 
served,  though  that  is  frequently  a  g 
si^n.  He  will  improve,  no  doubt,  wh 
he  is  married.  He  must  be  nearly  thirty, 
and  at  that  n<;-c  a  young  man  should  think 
about  matrimony  —  don't  you  think  so 
my  dear  .'" 

"  I  should   suppose  it  would  depe 


VIRGINIA    T.OIIKMIANS. 


1!) 


upon  whether  lie  wished  to  marry  or  not, 
mamma.'1 

"  Hut  he  mit at  marry  some  one,  my 
dear,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong.  u  lie  is  an 
only  child,  and  will  inherit  the  whole 
Wye  property;  and  as  (ieiieral  Lascelles 
is  old,  he  may  do  so  at  any  moment. 
Then,  how  couhl  lie  remain  unmarried  in 
so  laruv  an  establishment,  with  the  great 
estatr  attached  to  it,  my  dear  Juliet?  It 
would  be  absurd.  There  would  be  no 
one  but  his  mother  to  receive  company. 
The  income  from  the  property  must  be 
thirty  thousand  a  year,  and  how  could 
lie  ever  spend  it,  unless  some  one  assisted 
him  !  It  is  at  least  thirty  thousand." 

"  Is  it,  mamma  ?"  Miss  Juliet  said,  com- 
posedly. 

"  At  least,  if  not  more ;  and  thirty 
thousand  a  year  is  a  very  pleasant  sum, 
indeed,  to  have  at  one's  disposal,  my  dear. 
Perhaps  you  do  not  know  what  it  means. 
It  means  travel  in  Europe,  winters  in 
Paris,  and  the  opera,  and  suites  of  apart- 
ments elegantly  furnished,  and  many  oth- 
er agreeable  things.  Just  think  of  hav- 
ing a  magnificent  equipage  and  footmen, 
of  diamonds,  and  entertainments,  and  a 
superb  wardrobe,  and — desirabilities  gen- 
erally !''  said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  at  a  loss  for 
a  climax.  "Upon  my  word,  if  I  were  a 
young  lady,  I  am  not  sure  I  should  not 
set  my  cap  at  the  fortunate  youth  my- 
self, and  try  to  become  Mrs.  Douglas  Las- 
celles !" 

Miss  Juliet  again  yawned  slightly,  and 
said,  with  great  composure,  that  she  sup- 
posed Mr.  Lascelles  would  be  very  wealthy 
at  some  time;  and  as  she  made  this  ob- 
servation the  carriage  rolled  into  the 
grounds  around  "Wye,"  the  abode  of 
the  prospective  Croesus.  These  grounds 
were  quite  extensive — a  sort  of  park  with 
a  rolling  surface  covered  with  green  turf, 
and  dotted  here  and  there  with  groups  of 
very  old  oaks.  A  flock  of  sheep  dotted 
the  greensward  in  the  distance,  and  some 
very  fine  young  heifers,  evidently  of  choice 
breeds,  grazed  in  the  shadowy  glades  be- 
tween the  trees.  The  carriage-road  wound 
through  this  peaceful  scene  to  the  house, 
which  stood  on  a  hill,  and  was  a  large 


building  of  lead-colored  brick,  with  a  flat 
top  surrounded  by  a  heavy  balustrade, 
above  which  rose  an  octagonal  <>b-erv- 
atory.  On  both  sides  were  exten>i\<- 
wings,  in  rear  of  which  were  th 
vants'  quarters,  with  the  stables  beyond. 
In  front  of  the  main  building  was  a  broad 
porch  with  a  flight  of  stone  steps,  much 
worn,  and  the  large  front-door  folded  in 
the  middle,  and  had  an  antique  iron  knob 
which  you  pressed  upon  to  open  the  door. 
Above  was  a  semicircle  of  triangular 
panes.  In  front  of  the  house  stood  an 
ancient  sun-dial.  Everything  about  tin- 
place  was  plain  and  unassuming,  and  took 
visitors  back  in  thought  to  "old  times." 
Mrs.  Armstrong  and  her  daughter  were 
shown,  by  a  silent  and  respectful  old  ne- 
gro servant  in  black,  through  a  large  hall, 
wainscoted  in  oak,  into  a  room  on  the 
right  of  the  entrance.  This  was  a  large 
apartment,  with  a  matting  of  white  and 
ashes-of-roses  on  the  floor.  The  furniture 
was  antique  and  ugly,  but  would  have  de- 
lighted a  lover  of  bric-a-brac.  Some  new- 
er arm-chairs  had  been  added,  however, 
and  a  modern  mantel-piece  of  gray  mar- 
ble, flanked  by  fluted  columns  at  each 
side  of  the  wide  fireplace,  in  which  stood 
a  pair  of  huge  old-fashioned  brass  andi- 
rons. The  former  mantel-piece,  which 
was  of  wood,  and  very  high  and  narrow, 
had  been  left,  the  newer  one  supported 
a  little  bijou  of  a  clock,  very  unlike  the 
tall  white -faced  old  affair,  rising  like  a 
ghost  in  the  hall ;  and  at  each  end  was  a 
vase  full  of  roses.  Above  the  wooden 
mantel-piece  the  wall  was  wainscoted  to 
the  ceiling,  and  around  the  room  hung 
some  family  portraits,  slowly  fading  from 
age.  ^ 

IX. 

MR.  DOUGLAS    LASCELLES. 

As  Mrs.  Armstrong  subsided  into  an 
easy-chair,  she  said  to  Juliet, 

"  It  is  always  a  pleasure  to  me  to  come 
to  Wye — everything  is  so  quiet  and  solid. 
I  invariably  feel,  when  I  enter  a  room  like 
this,  that  the  family  belong  to  the  best 
people.  It  is  much  better  than  to  have 


20 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


money  only,"  added  the  lady,  succinctly, 
"  though  money  is  a  verv  good  thing,  in- 

"It  makes  people  very  disagreeable," 
said  Juliet,  with  indifference ;  "  that  is,  it 
is  the  disagreeable  people  who  generally 
seem  to  have  it." 

"  There  is  no  gem-nil  rule,"  responded 
the  elder  lady,  with  a  little  smile;  "it 
R  great  deal — and  there  is  often  a 
great  deal  in  people  that  is  best  hidden ; 
but  here  you  have  both  wealth  and 
charming  people  too,  and — " 

AYhat  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  about  to 
say  will,  in  all  human  probability,  never 
be  known.  The  door  opened  and  two 
ladies  came  in  —  one  of  them  tall  and 
about  sixty,  in  a  black  bombazine  dress 
and  a  white  cap,  with  a  placid  smile  upon 
her  thin  lips;  and  the  other  a  plump  lit- 
tle personage  of  about  twenty,  in  a  sim- 
ple but  scrupulously  neat  morning  toilet, 
smiling  as  cordially  as  her  companion, 

Mrs.  Armstrong  received  them  with  ef- 
fusion. Her  face  beamed,  and  she  utter- 
ed exclamations  of  pleasure. 

"  My  tJvnr  Mrs.  Lascelles,"  she  said, 
u  how  MTV  glad  I  am  to  see  you !  We 
have  not  met  before  for  a  century.  I 
am  so  much  engaged  at  home  with  dear 
Juliet,  and  looking  after  things,  that  I 
r  sec  my  very  best  friends." 

Mrs.  Lascelles  greeted  this  apology 
with  her  sweet  smile,  and  replied,  in  a 
soft  voice,  that  she  was  very  glad  indeed 
to  see  her  visitor.  She  had  brought  with 
h'-r  a  leathern  key -basket,  in  which  she 
had  thrust  a  stocking  vJiich  she  had  been 
knitting  and  n<>\v  glanced  at  it  from  hab- 
it ;  but  she  probably  thought  it.  would 
be  a  little  unceremonious  to  IVMIIHC  her 
knitting — so  >he  did  BOl  Mean- 

while .Juliet  ami  Mi-s  Anna  Gray,  a  niece 
of  Mrs.  Lascelles,  were  talking  1-y  the 
window,  thiMiigh  which  tin-re  was  a  tine 
view  of  the  mountain,  and  the  rich  ex- 
tent of  open  land  at  its  feet.  They  were 
evidently  friends,  ami  enjoyed  each  oth- 

iciety.       Miss    .Juliet's 
bright  and  her  face  animated.     She  was 
smiling    now,   not   yawning,  and   looked 
quite  charming. 


luu 

: 


"While  thus  engaged  with  her  friend, 
she  sat  with  her  back  to  the  door.  All 
at  once  she  heard  her  mother  exclaim, 

"My  dear  Mr.  Lascelles!  You  cer- 
tainly are  not  going  to  pass  and  not 
come  in  and  see  me  ?" 

These  words  were  addressed  to  a  per- 
son who  was  passing  through  the  hall. 
lie  had  come  down  the  staircase,  appar- 
ently bent  on  reaching  the  library  oppo- 
site the  drawing-room,  unseen.  But  the 
drawing-room  door  was  open,  Mrs.  A 
strong  sat  facing  it,  and  the  above 
clamation  followed. 

Mr.  Lascelles  —  he  was  evidently 
Mr.  Douglas  Lascelles  of  whom  the  lady 
had  spoken  during  her  ride  —  at  once 
turned  round,  exhibited  great  surprise 
and  pleasure,  and  came  into  the  draw- 
ing-room, bowing  low  as  he  approached 
the  ladies.  Mr.  Lascelles  was  a  man  of 
about  thirty -five,  and  very  simply  and 
neatly  dressed  in  the  last  fashion.  His 
features  were  delicate  and  rather  hand- 
some, his  manners  very  courteous,  and 
his  air  a  little  foreign.  lie  did  not  im- 
press strangers  as  a  man  of  strong  char- 
acter— rather,  perhaps,  as  shallow.  Af- 
ter awhile,  as  people  came  to  look  more 
closely  at  him,  that  appeared  doubtful. 
There  was  something  in  his  eyes  which 
seemed  to  show  that  under  this  quiet  ex- 
terior there  were  traits  of  character  which 
were  very  far  indeed  from  being  com- 
monplace. Now  and  then  a  shade 
weariness  fell  on  the  face,  which  left 
impression  that  Mr.  Lascelles  had  seen 
good  deal  of  life  in  his  time,  and  that  the 
springs  of  enjoyment  in  him  had  perhaps 
lo>t  their  elasticity.  He  was  verv  courte- 
ous, but  wanted  the  charm  of  unrein  e. 
People  never  got  closer  than  within  a 
certain  distance  of  Mr.  Lascellcs.  It  was 
time  thrown  away  to  endeavor  to  become 
intimate  with  him.  lie  was,  apparently, 
not  the  material  to  make  a  friend  of;  but 
those  who  caught  a  certain  flash  of  the 
eye  which  characterized  him  at  times  felt 
pretty  certain  that  he  would  make  a  very 
good  enemy,  lie  was  invariably  polite, 
however:  if  you  made  an  enemy  of  him 
it  would  be  your  own  fault. 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


21 


"This  is  an  unexpected  pleasure;  you 
really  a iv  such  a  hermit !"  saiil  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong, graciously  extending  one  of  her 
jewelled  hands. 

Mr.  Lascdlcs  irently  pressed  it,  bowing 
above  it,  and  smiling  deferentially  as  he 
did  so. 

"It  is  quite  natural,  you  know,"  said 
the  lady,  laughing,  "that  one  should  be- 
come excited  at  meeting  a  recluse !  Is  it 
not,  Mr.  Douglas?  —  pardon  my  want  of 
ceremony  I  1  am  an  old  woman,  and  de- 
test formality  !'' 

"  I  am  very  much  flattered,  indeed,  to 
have  you  drop  it  in  my  case,  madam," 
said  Mr.  Lascelles,  with  his  most  cordial 
smile,  "  and  I  feel  that  your  words  arc  a 
reproach.  It  is  my  own  fault  that  I  am 
such  a  stranger  to  you,  but  I  have  con- 
tracted the  habit  of  shutting  myself  up  at 
home,  even  when  society  the  most  charm- 
ing is  near  at  hand.  I  am  aware  that  it 
is  a  bad  habit.  I  wish  I  could  break  my- 
self of  it." 

"  Oh !"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  with  an 
affected  pout  which  ended  in  a  smile, 
"  that  is  very  easy  to  say.  But  do  you 
know,  I  think  you  are  not  quite  frank !" 

"  Not  frank,  madam  !  How  could  I  be 
otherwise  with  you  ?" 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged ;  but  you 
cannot  have  a  very  high  opinion  of  us 
poor  country  people." 

At  this  accusation  Mr.  Lascelles  coun- 
terfeited sincere  astonishment. 

"  What  could  possibly  induce  you  to 
take  up  such  an  erroneous  impression, 
my  dear  Mrs.  Armstrong  ?"  he  said.  "  Is 
there  any  society  better  than  our  coun- 
try society  in  Virginia?  I  do  not  know 
where  it  is." 

"  That  is  very  easy  to  say,  sir ;  but  if 
you  appreciate  us  so  highly,  why  do  you 
fly  off  to  Paris  every  year  or  two,  and  re- 
tire to  your  holy  cell  on  your  return  ?" 

"  You  adhere,  I  see,  madam,  to  the  her- 
mit illustration  !  As  to  Paris,  I  have  not 
visited  it  for  some  years,  and  rarely  travel 
at  all.  It  is  very  tiresome." 

"  Tiresome  ?  You  cannot  be  in  earnest ! 
I  really  adore  travelling — there  is  so  much 
pleasant  novelty  and  incident.  Country 


life  is  fearful,  and  I  do  grow  so  very  tired 
sometimes  of  its  sameness.  I  fed  tempt- 
ed to  set  the  house  on  fire,  or  do  some- 
thing desperate." 

"That  is  truly  dreadful,"  said  Mr.  Las- 
celles, smiling. 

"  Is  it  not  ?  This  morning,  after  a  vi>it 
to  Piedmont  and  hearing  Miss  (Irundy's 
chatter,  I  became  quite  wild  !  It  was  « 'in- 
monotonous,  fearful,  steady  How,  and  pros- 
trated me  so  that  I  nearly  resolved  upon 
an  act  of  desperation." 

"  What  was  that,  madam  ?" 

"  To  go  to  the  circus  at  Piedmont  to- 
night. Are  you  convinced  now  of  my 
desperate  condition  of  mind  ?  The  circus ! 
and  at  my  time  of  life,  and  subject  as  I 
am  to  neuralgia !" 

"  But  no  doubt  your  force  of  character 
enabled  you  to  resist,  madam." 

"Barely;  I  felt  very  much  as  our 
great-grandmamma  Eve  must  have  done, 
with  the  apple  before  her.  I  thought  of 
the  lights,  the  music ;  think  how  charm- 
ing it  will  all  be  !  But  it  is  impossible  ! 
my  dreadful  neuralgia — I  can't  venture 
out  at  night.  And  worse  than  all,  dear 
Juliet  cannot  go  without  an  escort." 

At  these  words  Miss  Juliet  turned  her 
head  and  looked  at  her  mother  with  sud- 
den displeasure  and  a  contraction  of  her 
brows.  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  not,  or  pre- 
tended not  to  be,  aware  of  this.  She 
gazed  with  an  expression  of  dove-like  in- 
nocence through  the  window,  and  seemed 
about  to  direct  the  conversation  to  anoth- 
er topic,  when  Mr.  Lascelles  said, 

"If  the  want  of  an  escort  is  all  that 
prevents  Miss  Juliet  from  going,  I  shall  be 
only  too  glad  if  she  will  accept  my  own/' 

"  Yours  !"  Mrs.  Armstrong  exclaimed, 
with  extreme  surprise,  before  Juliet  could 
speak.  "  No,  indeed !  I  could  not  hear 
of  such  a  thing.  What  would  you  think 
of  me?" 

"I  should  retain  my  present  opinion, 
madam,"  Mr.  Lascelles  said,  gallantly.  "  I 
will  not  tell  you  what  that  is,  as  you 
would  accuse  me  of  flattery." 

"No,  indeed  —  impossible!  To  pick 
you  up  with  so  little  ceremony,  and  make 
use  of  you  in  such  a  shockingly  free-and- 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


easy  manner !  You  really  must  not  men- 
tion it.  I  cannot  imagine  what  I  was 
thinking  of,  and  shall  never  learn  to  hold 
ngue  and  not  say  the  first  thing 
which  comes  into  my  poor  head.  If 
Juliet  wishes  to  go,  there  will  be  no  trou- 
ble at  all  about  it.  The  night  will  be 
clear,  and  the  distance  is  so  short.  Old 
William  is  entirely  reliable,  and  can  escort 
you,  my  dear,"  she  said,  turning  to  the 
young  lady  ;  "  and  when  you  reach  Pied- 
mont you  can  join  some  party  of  friends. 
A  number  will,  no  doubt,  be  going." 

"  I  am  sure  I  do  not  care  in  the  least 
to  go,  mamma,"  said  Miss  Juliet,  with  ex- 
treme stiffness  and  hauteur.  The  young 
lady  did  not  toss  her  head,  but  looked 
VI.TV  much  as  if  she  would  have  been  re- 
lieved by  doing  so. 

"  Why,  you  said  this  morning  that  you 
would  like  to  go,  my  dear !"  her  mother 
said. 

"Indeed,!  did  not!"  said  Miss  Juliet; 
•'  you  must  have  quite  misunderstood  me." 

Mr.  Lascellcs  interfered  to  still  the  ris- 
ing storm,  and  said,  earnestly, 

"  I  hope  you  will  change  your  mind, 

Juliet,  and  accept  my  escort.     I  go 

from  home  so  little,  that  the  circus  has 

the  charm  of  novelty.     1  am  sure  I  shall 

enjoy  it,  and  I  think  you  will.     You  will 

a  canter  on  horseback,  at  least — I 

know  you  will  enjoy  that." 

Mr.   Lascelles    touched    a    responsive 
'•ii'-rd,  for  Mi<s  Juliet  Armstrong  was  al- 
>nately  fond  of  horseback  rid- 
.<!  had  a   small   man;  nearly  thor- 
ough-bivd,  who  ran  as  swiftly  as  a  bird 
flies.      Hut    in   spite    of  the    temptation 
diet  pelted  in  politely  declining. 
This,  however,  only    made    Mr.  Lascelles 
more  \  Might  he  not  be  permit- 

ted to  call  at  Trianon,  say  at  half-; 
«-n   that  evening:1     Tin;   night   would  l>e 
.:.t  ;   there  would  bi-  a  moon  ;   and  a 
ride  by  moonlight  was  enjoyable — to  him, 

Mi>s  Juliet's  eyes  sparkled  a  little,  and 

•  while  she  yielded,  though   Jlot  with 

a    very  good  grace.      Her  enthusiasm   in 
the  direction   of  Mr.  Lascelles  v. 
dently    much   more   moderate    than   her 


mamma's,  and  it  was  probably  the  pros- 
pect of  a  ride  on  horseback  which  de- 
cided her.  She  consented  to  go,  and  it 
was  arranged  that  Mr.  Lascelles  should 
be  at  Trianon  by  half-past  six  in  the 
evening;  and  soon  afterward  the  ladies 
took  their  departure. 

Mr.  Lascelles  escorted  them  to  their 
carriage,  and  assisted  them  to  enter  it. 
He  then  made  a  smiling  and  deferential 
bow,  and  the  vehicle  drove  away. 

For  some  moments  Mr.  Lascelles  stoo( 
on  the  porch  looking  after  it  with  a 
culiar  smile. 

"  I  have  heard  of  the  cool  of  the  ev 
ing,"  he  said,  "  and  here  is  Madame  Cre- 
puscule  in  person.  She  was  in  want  of  an 
escort  for  mademoiselle,  and  quietly  made 
use  of  me — I  never  saw  a  thing  done  bet- 
ter !  Well,  a  man  seldom  makes  anything 
by  opposing  a  woman  when  she  has  map- 
ped out  her  programme.  Madame  want- 
ed somebody  to  go  with  mademoiselle, 
and  he  is  going !  It's  not  so  dreadful  a 
bore  either.  That  girl  is  superb — I  never 
dreamed  she  was  so  handsome ;  and  she 
had  nothing  to  do  with  this  little  come- 
dy— I  could  see  from  her  eyes  that  ma- 
dame's  proceedings  outraged  her.  I  nev- 
er saw  a  finer  pair  in  my  life !" 

These  latter  words  apparently  referred 
to  Miss  Juliet  Armstrong's  eyes,  and  not 
to  herself  and  her  mamma.  After  his 
soliloquy  Mr.  Lascelles  went  into  the 
house,  looking  into  the  drawing-room  as 
he  passed;  the  ladies  had  gone  up-stairs. 
lie  then  decided,  apparently,  upon  going 
into  the  library,  where  General  Lascelles 
was  writing  his  letters,  and  took  some 
steps  in  that  direction ;  he,  however, 
changed  his  mind,  and  proceeded  to  an 
apartment  in  rear  —  the  dining -roor 
Here  he  drew  a  small  key  from  his 
et,  yawning  as  he  did  so,  and  opened 
old -fashioned  mahogany  cellaret  in  a 
corner.  From  this  he  drew  a  square  de- 
canter of  brandy,  poured  some  into  a  ci 
u'la-s  tumbler,  which  he  took  from 
sideboard  near,  mixed  some  water  wit 
it,  and  drank  it. 

"  I  >ry  work  I'1  he  said,  as  if  apologizing 
to  the  brandy. 


room, 
pock- 

ii'd  an 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


X. 


THE  LADY-BIRD'S  NEST. 

"Tui.vxox,"  the  somewhat  fanciful 
name  ••!'  Mrs.  Annst rone's  residence, 
was  a  handsome  cottage  orne,  rmbow- 
ercd  in  foliage,  not  far  from  Piedmont. 
All  about  the  place  was  feminine  and  at- 
tractive, for  this  l;uly  was  a  person  of  ex- 
cellent taste,  and  knew  very  well  how  to 
sun-omul  herself  with  what  gratified  the 
oycs — above  all,  with  what  made  a  good 
impression  upon  visitors.  The  veranda 
was  supported  by  light  fluted  pillars,  and 
surrounded  by  scroll-work.  The  green- 
sward, dotted  with  ornamental  shrubs, 
was  elosc  trimmed,  and  guiltless  of  a 
single  leaf  or  twig  to  mar  its  beauty. 
The  carriage-drive  was  of  white  gravel, 
and  swept  round  a  diminutive  circle,  in 
the  midst  of  which  stood  a  large  wick- 
er-work basket  overflowing  with  green 
creepers  in  full  bloom.  And  in  the 
small,  neat  hall  of  the  house  a  glimpse 
was  caught  through  the  open  door  of 
delicate  bookcases  and  aerial  stands — the 
former  containing  handsome  volumes  in 
gilt  binding,  and  the  latter  a  profusion 
of  flowers,  which  filled  the  air  with  fra- 
grance. If  Wye  was  a  good  type  of  the 
old  "  solid  "  class  of  houses,  and  the  an- 
cient regime  in  general,  Trianon  repre- 
sented the  new  regime;  which  you  pre- 
ferred was  a  matter  of  taste.  One  was 
antique  and  substantial,  and  had  memo- 
ries about  it;  but  the  other  was  very 
pretty  and  attractive. 

Trianon,  in  its  ensemble,  was  the  result 
of  a  conviction  on  Mrs.  Armstrong's  part 
that  when  one  has  an  unmarried  daughter 
home  ought  to  be  made  attractive  —  to 
visitors;  and  these  visitors  must  be  per- 
sons of  a  certain  class.  The  Armstrongs 
(were  people  of  excellent  family.  They 
had  lived  in  an  adjoining  county,  but  had 
been  forced  to  remove  from  it  some  years 
before.  Mr.  Armstrong  had  been  a  gen- 
tleman of  great  elegance  and  jovial  in- 
stincts, who  liked  society,  and  had  run 
through  a  large  estate  by  entertaining  the 
very  best  company  in  the  very  best  man- 
ner to  the  very  last  day  of  his  life.  Then 


the  crash  eaine.  The  skies  had  been 
cloudless,  but  suddenly  a  snow-storm  of 
"writs"  he^-in  to  fall.  The  estate  waa 
quite  insolvent,  and  his  wife  and  daughter 
were  left  penniless. 

But  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  a  woman  of 
energy.  Sin-  had  an  old  bachelor  uncle 
who  was  very  well  off,  and  had  enjoyed  a 
great  deal  of  good  wine  at  her  table.  I  If. 
was  fond  of  Juliet;  and  the  homeless 
lady  promptly  appealed  to  him  for  a  tem- 
porary refuge — she  could  then  look  about 
her,  she  said.  They  went  to  live  with 
the  old  bachelor  uncle,  and  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong paid  him  charming  attentions. 
When  he  died,  not  long  afterward,  he  left 
her  a  good  legacy,  and  with  this  legacy 
the  lady  purchased  the  small  estate  of 
Trianon,  and  built  the  house  upon  it.  Af- 
ter paying  for  the  land  and  cottage,  there 
was  very  little  of  the  legacy  left.  A  por- 
tion remained,  however,  and  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong exhibited  her  good -sense  in  the 
disposition  of  it.  She  did  not  spend  it 
in  trifles  to  gratify  her  tastes,  though  no 
one  had  a  greater  fondness  for  the  ele- 
gant nothings  which  money  purchases. 
She  invested  it  in  good  stocks,  which 
brought  her  a  moderate  but  certain  in- 
come ;  and  with  this  and  the  proceeds  of 
her  estate,  which  was  managed  for  her  by 
a  reliable  person  living  in  a  small  house 
on  her  land,  she  lived  in  comfort  —  her 
neighbors  said  in  luxury. 

In  fact,  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  one  of 
those  persons  who  give  to  a  little  the  ap- 
pearance of  a  great  deal.  Everything 
about  her  small  establishment  was  in  per- 
fect taste.  Her  silver  was  the  old  family 
plate,  which  she  had  managed  to  rescue 
from  the  wreck,  and  her  table-service  was 
of  snowy  china,  thin  to  transparency,  and 
decorated  with  moss  -  rose  -  buds.  As  to 
her  napkins  and  table  mats,  they  were  the 
despair  of  her  lady  acquaintances;  the 
falling  snow  was  not  whiter.  In  the 
drawing-room  there  were  loves  of  easy- 
chairs,  with  ornamental  tidies  on  their 
backs.  .The  table  in  the  centre  was  of 
carved  walnut,  and  supported  the  goddess 
Vesta  in  bronze,  holding  aloft  a  superb 
lamp.  On  the  table  lay  volumes  contain- 


24 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


ing  the  poems  of  Mr.  Tennyson,  Mrs. 
Browning,  and  others  —  English  copies, 
bound  in  embossed  leather.  The  paper 
on  the  wall  was  fawn  color,  with  a  small 
gilt  figure  at  intervals.  The  matting  was 
white.  The  elegant  couches  everywhere 
made  you  indolent,  they  looked  so  com- 
fortable. From  all  this  there  resulted  a 
conviction  on  the  part  of  visitors  that  Mrs. 
Armstrong  "  had  investments,"  which  in- 
vestments would,  of  course,  one  day  fall 
to  Miss  Juliet. 

It  is  possible  that  this  was  the  impres- 
sion which  Mrs.  Armstrong  desired  to  pro- 
duce. If  it  was  an  illusion  she  did  not 
attempt  to  dispel  it.  On  the  contrary, 
she  encouraged  it.  It  would  do  no  harm. 
She  was  in  the  habit  of  alluding  incident- 
ally to  the  rise  and  fall  of  stocks,  to  the 
good-sense  of  people  who  preferred  safe 
investments  at  a  moderate  rate  of  interest, 
to  those  promising  larger  dividends,  but 
which  could  not  be  depended  upon.  Af- 
ter thus  expressing  her  financial  views 
Mrs.  Armstrong  would  sigh,  and,  rustling 
her  rich  silk,  trimmed  with  Valenciennes 
lace,  deplore  the  pecuniary  straits  to  which 
she,  in  common  with  everybody,  was  re- 
duced. This,  of  course,  had  convinced 
her  listeners.  Mrs.  Armstrong,  of  Trianon, 
was  evidently  as  easy  in  her  circumstances 
as  she  was  charming.  And  that  dear  Ju- 
liet I  how  fortunate  she  was,  in  having 
such  a  future  of  ease  and  comfort  before 
her! 

N»\v,  Mr-.  Arm-tr'-nu;  knew  perfectly 
well  that  this  carefully-nursed  impression 
in  the  community  was  <juite  illusory,  and 
that  Juliet  would  be  plaerd  in  a  very  ein- 
l>aiTa-M!i'_T  situation,  indeed,  at  her  own 
death.  This  event  she  hoped  would  not 
take  place  for  a  long  time  to  come;  but 
then  life  was  uncertain,  and  it  was  incum- 
bent upon  her  as  a  good  mother  to  pre- 
pare  f..r  rontiii'jvncirs.  She  ITM  a  MTV 
good  mother,  for  she  was  devotedly  at- 
tached to  Juliet,  and  a  sudden  chill  always 
followed  the  reflection  that  the  irirl  miirht 
be  left  unprovided  f<>r.  At  her  death  Ju- 
liet would  l>e  practically  homeless,  for  it 
would  be  impossible  for  her  to  live  at 
Trianon ;  and  without  her  own  careful 


management  the  estate  and  their  small  in- 
come from  the  investments  would  not  go 
very  far ;  Juliet  would  at  once  become  a 
poor  and  unprotected  girl ;  and  at  this 
idea  Mrs.  Armstrong  positively  shudder- 
ed. Juliet  must  marry. 

It  was  a  bitter  thought  that  she  might 
one  day  be  separated  from  her  daughter ; 
but  then  it  would  be  far  better  for  the 
daughter  to  marry  and  settle  down,  and 
this  worldly  person  did  not  hesitate.  She- 
determined  to  effect  a  brilliant  match  for 
Juliet — it  must  be  brilliant,  and  her  child 
should  be  surrounded  with  every  luxury. 
This  pearl  of  pure  water  should  have  a 
golden  setting;  and  for  two  or  three 
years  now  Mrs.  Armstrong  had  been  in 
search  of  this  setting.  She  and  Juliet 
had  spent  their  winters  in  the  cities,  and 
their  summers  at  the  watering-places.  A 
number  of  admirers  had  appeared,  and 
the  young  lady  had  not  wanted  offers; 
but  the  suitors  were  not  eligible  in  the 
mother's  eyes,  and  she  quietly  dissuaded 
her  daughter  from  encouraging  their  at- 
tentions. Juliet  had  done  so  with  appar- 
ent alacrity,  and  there  it  ended. 

Miss  Juliet  Armstrong,  indeed,  seemed 
not  to  have  the  least  desire  to  marry  any- 
body. But  she  was  very  reserved ;  her 
mother  had  never  understood  her  precise- 
ly; and  it  seemed  impossible  that  sho 
should  not  desire  to  make  a  brilliant 
match.  She  was  not  much  pleased,  she 
confessed,  with  their  humdrum  life  at 
Trianon.  "What  more  natural  than  th; 
the  young  lady  should  be  willing  to  e: 
change  it  for  new  scenes,  the  pleasure 
travel,  and  all  the  incident  and  novelty 
attainable  by  persons  of  ample  means? 
She  had  often  suggested  this  attractive 
future  to  Juliet,  clearly  intimating  that 
all  depended  upon  the  discovery  of  the 
Cni-sus.  As  Mrs.  (  rojsus  she  would  en- 
joy all  the  delights  of  life.  It  would 
be  better  to  look  out  for  him,  and  not 
repulse  him  when  he  appeared. 

Juliet  a^ented  with  an  air  of  extreme 
indifference  to  her  mother's  views,  and 
then  they  seemed  to  pass  entirely  out  of 
her  mind.  She  was  a  peculiar  person, 
with  a  quiet  air  which  probably  exp 


;!ie 


. 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


ed  her  character.  She  was  very  com- 
posed ami  pleasant  in  society,  and  read  a 
great  deal;  but  the  one  pa-i-m  of  her 
life  seemed  to  be  music  —  unless  horse- 
back riding  could  be  added.  Her  voice 
was  a  clear  soprano,  and  she  sang  tin- 
niest ditlieult  passages  from  her  favorite 
operas  with  the  greatest  ease.  At  such 
moments  she  seemed  to  become  another 
person:  her  inditlerent  air  disappeared: 
her  cheeks  became  Hushed;  and  her  tall 
figure  seemed  about  to  rise  from  the  pi- 
ano and  act  the  scene  which  she  was  sing- 
ing. One  day  her  mother  said  to  her,  as 
she  was  executing  a  passage  after  this 
fashion  from  Bellini,  "  Well,  my  dear,  if 
you  are  ever  cast  on  your  own  resources, 
you  can  become  a  prima  donna."  The 
excitement  lasted,  however,  for  a  few  mo- 
ments only.  When  she  shut  down  the 
lid  of  her  piano  the  young  lady's  face 
grew  composed  again,  and  resumed  its 
air  of  indifference. 

This  was  the  state  of  things  at  Trianon 
when  the  present  narrative  opens.  Croe- 
sus had  not  appeared,  or  at  least  the  par- 
ticular one  whom  Mrs.  Armstrong  desired. 

An  aged  millionnaire  at  the Springs 

had  plainly  been  ready  to  lay  his  wig  and 
money-bags  at  Miss  Juliet's  feet,  but  she 
had  quietly  turned  her  back  upon  him. 
Mother  and  daughter  were  once  more  at 
Trianon,  and  it  seemed  doubtful  whether 
they  would  leave  it  for  a  long  time. 
Their  travelling  expenses  had  been  large, 
and  the  dividends  from  the  investments 
were  not  due  until  the  ensuing  January. 
Seclusion  at  home  was  thus  rendered 
necessary,  and,  with  a  sigh,  Mrs.  Ann- 
strong  gave  up  the  thought  of  further 
pleasure  excursions  —  and  Croesus — for 
that  year. 

This  was  sorrowful  to  think  of,  but 
suddenly  a  brilliant  idea  occurred  to  the 
lady — it  was  wonderful  that  it  had  never 
occurred  before.  There  was  Mr.  Las- 
celles,  of  Wye,  who  was  a  very  good  parti 
indeed !  Why  should  not  Juliet  marry 
Mr.  Douglas  Lascelles,  and  become  the 
mistress,  in  due  time,  of  that  desirable 
establishment?  Having  conceived  this 
idea,  Mrs.  Armstrong  proceeded  to  give 


it  careful  reflection.  The  more  she 
thought  of  it,  the  more  attractive  it  ap- 
peared. The  estate  was  a  large  one,  and 
the-  Laseelles  family  were  among  the  very 
best  people  of  the  country.  Everything 
connected  with  Wye  was  agreeable  — 
more  than  agreeable.  As  Mrs.  Douglas 
Lascelles,  of  Wye,  Juliet  would  be.  estab- 
lished in  life  in  a  manner  which  suited 
her  mothers  aspirations. 

Various  points,  however,  remained  to 
be  considered.  \Y<>uld  Juliet  accept  Mr. 
Lascelles?  Would  that  gentleman  ;^k 
the  young  lady  to  accept  him  ?  And  was 
his  personal  character  such  as  to  warrant 
her  in  intrusting  her  daughter's  happi- 
ness to  him  ?  Upon  this  latter  point 
there  seemed  to  be  no  reasons  for  dis- 
trust. Mr.  Lascelles  was  a  very  quiet 
and  gentlemanly  person,  against  whose 
good  character  no  one  had  ever  breathed 
a  word ;  and  whon  a  man  reached  thirty 
or  more  thus  exempt  from  criticism,  Mrs. 
Armstrong  reflected  that  it  was  a  very 
favorable  sign  indeed.  Young  enough 
for  Juliet,  without  vices  of  any  descrip- 
tion, intellectual,  good-looking,  domestic 
in  -his  habits,  and  evidently  a  cordial 
and  amiable  person  as  his  demeanor 
showed,  Mr.  Lascelles  had  positively  no 
drawbacks  whatever  that  she  could  think 
of.  Juliet  might  not  agree  to  all  this — 
but  then,  again,  she  might.  If  Mr.  Las- 
celles laid  his  heart  and  hand  at  her  feet, 
she  might  accept  them.  But  would  he 
do  so?  Would  it  be  possible  to  bring 
the  young  people  together  even?  Mrs. 
Armstrong  knit  her  brows  and  reflected. 

It  would  be  difficult  to  manage ;  Mr. 
Lascelles  had  paid  a  few  short  and  for- 
mal visits  to  Trianon  in  past  times,  but 
he  had  not  been  at  the  house  for  a  very 
long  while  now.  Indeed,  he  seemed  to 
go  nowhere,  since  his  return  from  Eu- 
rope some  years  before,  and  remained 
quietly  at  Wye,  preferring  books,  ap- 
parently, to  ladies'  society.  He  was  rare- 
ly seen  abroad,  and  only  then  seated  in 
his  elegant  drag,  which  was  driven  by  his 
servant,  on  his  way  to  dine  and  spend 
the  evening  with  a  bachelor  friend  a  few 
miles  distant.  This  bachelor  friend,  it 


26 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


was  true,  bore  an  indifferent  reputation, 
and  it  was  whispered  that  his  dinners 
generally  terminated  at  two  or  three  in 
the  morning,  witli  packs  of  cards  and 
empty  bottles  scattered  around.  But 
this  was  probably  a  mere  scandal.  At 
all  events,  Mr.  Lascelles  certainly  took  no 
part  in  the  drinking  and  gambling.  He 
was  much  too  correct  a  person  to  indulge 
in  such  proceedings,  and,  no  doubt,  vis- 
ited his  friend  to  enjoy  his  jovial  society 
after  protracted  study  at  Wye. 

Mr.  Lascelles  thus  led  a  life  of  great 
seclusion,  and  it  would  probably  prove  a 
very  diilicult  undertaking  to  bring  Juliet 
and  himself  together.  It  would  be  a 
delicate  affair,  and  every  precaution  must 
be  taken  to  conceal  her  design.  Nothing 
would  be  easier  than  to  defeat  it  com- 
pletely in  the  very  beginning  by  a  single 
-top.  Juliet  was  extremely  proud, 
and  Mr.  Lascelles,  at  his  age,  had  probably 
made  the  acquaintance  of  many  match- 
making mammas.  Energy  in  the  prose- 
cution of  her  design  would  be  essential ; 
hut  another  thing  would  be  more  essen- 
tial still — not  too  much  energy. 

The  result  of  these  reflections  had 
shown  itx-lf  in  the  visit  to  Wye.  Mrs. 
Armstrong  knew  Mrs.  Lascelles  very  well, 
and  nothing  certainly  could  be  more  nat- 
ural than  that  she  should  make  a  morning 
call.  When  she  left  Wye  she  had  suc- 
ceeded in  her  object,  and  taken  the  first 
Mr.  1  )ouula>  Lascelles  would  escort 
Juliet  to  1'irdmont  on  horseback;  the 
night  promised  to  be  fine,  with  bright 
moonlight,  and  Juliet  looked  superb  on 
horseba-'k.  Thence  consequences  might 
6HMI&  Sin-  had  been,  compelled  to  be  a 
little  too  plain  in  the  matter  of  the  es- 
cort—  but  then  that  was  unavoidable. 
The  fact  had  to  be  Miuuv-ted  in  some 
manner,  and  she  had  done  to  as  delicate- 
ly as  po— il.le.  Juliet  had  evidently  been 
<li-plea<«'d,  and  Mr.  Lascelles  mi^ht  have 
ha«l  his  private  views — but,  then  this 
would  soon  pa^s.  If  Juliet's  beautiful 
made  the  impression  which  she 
hoped  they  would  make,  Mr.  Lascelles 
would  be  the  first  pers«m  to  thank  her 
— when  he  became  her  son-in-law. 


lat 


Mr.  Lascelles  made  his  appearance  at 
Trianon  punctually  ;  and  Juliet,  who  nev- 
er kept  anybody  waiting,  had  on  her  ri< 
ing-habit.  In  this  dress  she  was  vei 
handsome ;  it  exhibited  her  figure  to  pei 
feet  advantage,  and  the  small  riding-hat 
set  off  her  erect  head  admirably.  It  was 
plain  that  Mr.  Lascelles  was  much  struck 
with  her  appearance,  but  evidently  won- 
dered a  little  at  the  stiffness  of  his  recep- 
tion. This  resulted  from  the  fact  that 
Miss  Juliet  had  been  much  outraged  by 
her  mother's  proceedings  at  Wye,  and,  in 
fact,  had  sulked  all  the  way  back  to  Tri- 
anon. If  she  had  been  able  to  do  so,  she 
would  have  broken  her  engagement  ;-but 
as  this  was  impossible,  she  solaced  her- 
self with  a  mild  continuation  of  the 
sulks. 

Tea  was  served  on  the  brilliant  little 
table  in  the  bijou  of  a  supper-room,  which 
was  fragrant  with  the  perfume  of  flowers. 
Then  Miss  Juliet's  small  mare  was  led  up 
to  the  veranda,  and  her  ill-humor  disap- 
peared— her  eyes  sp'arkled.  She  had  her 
foot  in  the  stirrup  before  Mr.  Lascelles 
could  assist  her,  and,  arranging  her  skii 
with  a  single  movement,  looked  over 
shoulder  to  signify  that  she  was  readj 
She  was  a  beauty,  sitting  lightly  thus  on 
her  spirited  little  animal,  with  her  cheeks 
glowing,  and  Mr.  Lascelles  silently  infoi 
cd  himself  of  the  fact. 

"Take  care  of  yourself,  my  dear! 
be  careful  —  you  ride  so  recklessly!" 
claimed  Mrs.  Armstrong,  "and  don't 
late,  Mr.  I>,,tiM-la>." 

"You  need  not  be  afraid,  madam, 
will  bring  Miss  Juliet  back  in  goc 
time,1'  replied  Mr.  Lascelles. 

He  then  mounted  his  own  horse,  which 
was  a  very  fine  one,  and  they  set  out  at 
full  gallop  in  the  direction  of  Piedmont. 
The  moon  had  just  risen,  and  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong, standing  upon  the  portico,  could 
see  Juliet's  long  hair  waving  in  the  mel- 
low light.  She  stood  for  some  moment 
musing,  and  quietly  smiling.  She  tl 
said,  in  a  low  tone, 

"  Mrs.  Dnuiiliis  Lascclles,  of  Wyel- 
it  does  not  sound  badly." 

She  then  turned  round  to  go  into  tl 


JiiCO 

E 

idy. 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


house,  when  a  sort  of  shadow  flitted  across 

the  passage. 

"  Who  is  that?''  said  Mrs.  Armstrong. 

There  was  no  reply  to  this. 

u  \Vas  that  you,  Miss  Hassick?" 

The  words  were  addressed  to  a  young 
ladv  wlit)  \\as  hovering  iu  an  assiduous 
manner  over  the  tea-table,  arranging  the 
cups. 

"Me,  ma'am  f  said  the  young  lady,  in 
a  cooing  voice,  and  turning  her  head  with 
an  innocent  look. 

"At  the  door!  You  certainly  were 
there,  with  your  shoes  of  silence!  You 
were  listening  !" 

"  Oh,  ma'am  !" 

"  I  have  called  your  attention  before, 
miss,  to  my  views  upon  that  subject," 
said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  haughtily;  "and 
you  will  please  remember  them — give  me 
my  tea !" 

XL 

THE     UNRIVALLED     COMBINATION    AND     ITS 
MANAGER. 

THE  circus  opened  in  its  great  tent, 
full  of  dazzling  light,  to  a  crowded  audi- 
ence. 

The  huge  canvases  had  risen  in  an  open 
field  in  the  suburbs,  as  if  by  rnagic.  One 
of  the  tents  was  for  the  cages  containing 
the  wild  animals,  and  the  other  for  the 
bare-back  performances.  From  the  sum- 
mits floated  proudly  the  national  flag. 
Around  were  grouped  smaller  tents  for 
the  exhibition  of  "  side  shows."  On 
these  were  pictures  of  women  with  beards 
— glued  on ;  of  men  weighing  five  hun- 
dred pounds,  or  any  weight  you  chose — 
stuffed  out  with  pillows ;  of  three-legged 
pigs,  five-legged  dogs,  and  woolly  horses; 
the  price  of  admission  being  fifteen  cents. 
There  was  also  a  merry-go-round,  where 
rustics  gyrated  rapidly  on  a  wooden  horse. 
Insinuating  personages  with  sweet  smiles 
exhibited  revolving  wheels,  where  one 
could  bet  with  a  tolerable  certainty  of 
losing.  Cakes,  candy,  and  lemonade 
were  for  sale  in  every  direction ;  and  the 
crowd  moved  to  and  fro,  laughing,  jest- 
ing, and  in  extreme  delight. 


It  was  a  motley  crowd,  and  had  been 
arriving  all  day.  At  an  early  hour  the 
streets  had  begun  to  fill  with  persons 
from  the  Mirrounding  country — old  farm- 
ers iu  homespun,  with  their  motherly 
dames;  rustic  beaux,  who  munched  gin- 
gerbread, and  saluted  their  sweethearts  on 
the  street  with  loud  laughter;  and  with 
these  mingled  many  gentlemen  of  the 
neighborhood  on  horseback,  for  the  cir- 
cus was  dear  to  all  classes.  From  this  it 
resulted  that  the  main  street  of  Piedmont 
presented  quite  a  holiday  appearance. 
The  sidewalks  were  full  of  pedestrians, 
and  the  shops  overflowed.  The  old  rus- 
tics cheapened  the  goods,  and  hesitated 
long  before  purchasing;  or  they  repaired 
to  the  tavern  and  mildly  refreshed  them- 
selves with  drams,  while  their  "  old  wom- 
en "  waited  in  the  porch. 

The  tavern  porch  was  the  centre  of 
things.  The  circus  men  had  "put  up" 
at  the  place ;  and  they  were  a  very  pe- 
culiar-looking set  of  people,  as  they  stalk- 
ed about  slowly,  drank  at  the  bar,  and 
contemplated  the  crowd  with  the  air  of 
animals  belonging  to  another  species. 
They  wore  citizens'  clothes,  but  you  could 
see  that  they  were  not  citizens.  Some- 
thing about  them  produced  the  impres- 
sion that  it  would  not  be  advisable  to 
quarrel  with  them.  They  would  be  dan- 
gerous people,  probably,  in  a  brawl.  They 
were  not  rude  or  threatening  in  the  least, 
but  looked  a  little  ferocious,  which  may 
have  resulted  from  a  familiarity  with  the 
animals  in  the  menagerie.  A  man  accus- 
tomed to  enter  the  cage  of  a  lion  when 
he  is  tearing  raw  meat,  acquires  the  habit, 
perhaps,  of  looking  a  little  stern,  not  to 
say  fierce,  as  that  gives  warning;  and  there 
was  an  expression  in  the  faces  of  these 
men,  whose  muscles  were  plain  under  their 
clothes,  which  said,  "  It  would  be  best  for 
you  not  to  get  into  any  difficulty  with 
me."  There  seemed  a  probability  at  one 
time  that  such  a  difficulty  would  take 
place,  as  one  of  the  busybodies  thronging 
the  tavern  accidentally  trod  upon  the 
toes  of  a  heavy-browed  and  powerful  in- 
dividual imbibing  liquids  at  the  bar,  and 
was  treated  to  a  ferocious  scowl,  accompa- 


28 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


nied  by  a  growl,  which  made  him  recoil 
and  look  outraged.  But  a  friend  took 
the  busybody  aside,  and  said  to  him, "  You 
had  better  let  these  fellows  alone — their 
trainers  put  too  much  muscle  on  'em;" 
and  a  portly  individual  in  a  suit  of  black, 
a  white  waistcoat,  and  a  tall  "stove-pipe" 
hat,  went  up  to  the  Hercules,  and  tapping 
him  on  the  shoulder  said,  in  a  low  tone, 
with  a  significant  look,  "  No  making  trou- 
ble with  citizens !"  Then  the  gentleman 
with  the  stove-pipe  hat  approached  the 
offended  busybody  and  said,  in  honeyed 
tones, 

"  I  hope,  my  dear  sir,  you'll  not  think 
hard  of  my  boys.  They  are  a  well-mean- 
ing set,  and  as  peaceful  as  lambs,  but  they 
are  overworked  sometimes,  and  that  tells 
on  the  nerves,  you  know !  We  shall  have 
the  pleasure,  I  trust,  of  seeing  you  to- 
night." 

Here  he  slipped  an  admission  ticket 
into  the  hand  of  the  mollified  citizen,  and 
they  parted  with  mutual  bows  and  smiles. 

He  was,  in  fact,  a  very  good  judge  of 
human  nature  indeed,  this  Mr.  Brownson, 
manager  and  proprietor  of  Brownson's 
Unrivalled  Combination  of  Attractions. 
The  object  of  his  existence  was  dollars, 
and  he  was  devoted  to  it.  He  had  max- 
ims by  which  he  regulated  his  conduct, 
and  would  have  them  respected.  One  was, 
"  Never  have  any  difficulty  with  citizens;" 
another,  "Don't  give  the  legal  authorities 
a  hold  on  you  ;"  ami  a  third  was," Receipts 
are  the  great  thinir."  II*'  had  his  expla- 
nation always  ready,  showing  the  good- 
sense  of  the>e  maxims.  DilHcultics  pro- 
duced "rows,"  and  arrests  followed,  and 
there  wa-  a  scandal — and  nothing  injured 
18  m«rc  than  to  acquire  the  reputa- 
tion of  having  a  i|iiarrelsoine  and  di-au'iv- 
al'le  vet  ,,f  performers.  Citizens  would 
not  stand  that.  They  would  not  attend 
the  pcrf'-nnancex,  and  as  receipts  were 
the  great,  thing,  that  would  be  disastrous. 

r.e\««nd  this  Mr.  r.rownson  did  not  in- 
pat  riaivh  mildly  ruling  his 
band  of  wild  animals,  and  if  they  only  per- 
formed to  his  satisfaction,  he  made  not 
the  least  objection  to  their  enjoying  them- 
selve-.  Kverything  was  permitted  that 


was  not  forbidden — private  life  was  sa- 
cred. Cards  ?  Certainly  ;  where  was  the 
harm  in  social  relaxation  in  hours  of  lei- 
sure? Drink?  "Why  not?  Wine  cheered 
the  heart  of  man,  and  he  himself,  at  inter- 
vals throughout  every  day,  retired  to  in- 
dulge in  that  solace.  But  it  must  never 
be  forgotten  that  receipts  were  the  great 
thing.  Drink  to  any  extent,  so  there  was 
no  quarrelling  and  the  nerves  were  steady. 
That  must  be  understood.  These  condi- 
tions complied  with,  no  questions  would 
be  asked,  for  he,  Mr.  Brownson,  was  not  a 
police-officer  or  a  detective,  to  be  shadow- 
ing gentlemen  and  interfering  with  them 
in  their  private  relations.  But — no  rows, 
and  the  nerves  must  be  up  to  time.  If 
anything  unfortunate  happened  it  was 
unfortunate,  and  the  matter  ended.  If 
the  performer  on  the  flying-trapeze  broke 
his  neck  in  consequence  of  being  drunk, 
it  was  his  misfortune,  and  his  sorrowing 
comrades  would  drop  a  tear.  It  would 
be  an  inconvenience,  and  subject  the  man- 
agement to  loss — the  victim  might  even 
have  obtained  an  advance  on  his  salary. 
But  then  accidents  would  happen  in  the 
best-regulated  companies,  and  there  was 
the  element  of  compensation  which  min-  • 
gles  with  all  human  affairs.  For  a  per- 
former to  break  his  neck  was  a  superb 
advertisement.  It  was  "thrilling!" — 
crowds  flocked  to  the  next  performance  in 
hopes  that  another  neck  would  be  broken 
— and  ho,  Mr.  Brownson,  clad  in  a  whit 
waistcoat  and  irreproachable  black  coz 
had  the  opportunity  of  making  a  feclii 
address :  "  It  was  his  painful  duty  to  ai 
nounce  that  since  his  last  visit  to  his 

friends  at ,  the  distinguished  Senor 

Gomez,  in  executing  his  great  feat  of 
throwing  himself  fifty  feet  backward  on 
the  flying-trapeze  had  missed  the  roj 
and,  falling,  ha«l  broken  his  neck!  His 
fate  had  moved  the  sternest  of  his  com- 
rades t«.  tears.  11,-  was  mild  and  amia- 
ble, and  exempt  from  every  vice,  especial- 
ly from  the  great  curse  of  intemperance. 
His  friends  mourned  his  loss,  but  consoled 
themselves  with  the  reflection  that  he  had 
died  on  the  field  of  honor,  a  bright  exai 
pie  to  all ;  and  the  same  feat  would  no\ 


VIRGINIA    BOHEMIANS. 


29 


be  performed  by  Mr.  Welby  Brown,  after 
which  Mr.  Donald  Melville,  the  foremost 
bare-back  rider  of  the  world,  would  exhib- 
it his  daring  iini-um-uin,  and  the  perform- 
ance would  now  commence." 

After  making  this  little  address  Mr. 
Brnwnsini  was  aeeustoined  to  wave  his 
stove-pipe  hat  and  bow  respectfully  to 
the  audience,  after  which  lie  retired  with 
his  head  erect  and  an  air  of  the  highest 
respectability.  When  the  next  accident 
happened  the  same  speech  was  taken  out 
and  aired,  and  the  same  lament  was  ut- 
tered over  the  comrade  who  had  fallen  on 
the  field  of  honor.  It  was  the  command- 
er-in -chief  issuing  his  order  of  condo- 
lence, and  giving  voice  to  the  general 
grief.  Dead,  the  fallen  one  was  mourn- 
ed— living,  he  had  not  been  shadowed  or 
interfered  with.  The  attention  of  his 
surviving  comrades  was  called  to  that 
fact.  No  interference  with  the  private 
affairs  of  gentlemen  off  duty.  Drink 
and  cards?  Certainly.  Liberty  to  cut 
each  others'  throats?  If  they  chose. 
But  no  difficulties  with  citizens ;  and, 
drunk  or  sober,  the  nerves  must  be  up  to 
time.  The  performance  advertised  must 
be  performed.  No  shirking.  Business 
was  business,  and  receipts  the  great  thing. 

This  slight  sketch  of  Mr.  Brownson  is 
a  digression ;  but  then  the  worthy  man- 
ager of  the  "Unequalled  Combination" 
was  a  type — and  types  are  always  worth 
looking  at.  In  addition,  Mr.  Brownson 
is  destined  to  appear  in  a  few  scenes  of 
this  narrative ;  hence  this  brief  sketch  in 
passing  of  the  excellent  man. 

Night  came  at  last,  and  the  crowd 
flowed  toward  the  ground  where  great 
domes  of  light — the  tents,  "  lit  from  the 
inner"  —  were  seen  glowing.  The  tent 
containing  the  wild  animals  was  already 
crowded.  There  was  general  enthusiasm. 
Men,  women,  and  children,  absorbed  in 
the  spectacle  before  them,  moved  to  and 
fro  over  the  green  turf  forming  the  floor 
of  the  canvas  house,  laughing,  jesting, 
exclaiming,  and  enjoying  to  the  utmost 
what  is  one  of  the  greatest  enjoyments 
of  this  world — the  being  ardently  inter- 
ested in  something. 


It  was  a  very  good  menagerie,  and  the 
animals,  ranged  in  their  cages  against  the 
canvas  \\alls,  looked  with  languid  interest 
at  the  ridiculous  creatures  with  two  legs 
who  were  inspecting  them.  There  was  a 
huge  rhinoceros,  who  could  have  crunch- 
ed half  a  do/en  of  them  at  one  mouthful ; 
lions,  tigers,  and  leopards,  who  could  have 
torn  them  to  pieces;  and  a  grizzly  bear, 
one  of  whose  hugs  would  have  sufficed 
for  the  strongest  man  present.  Why 
were  they  put  in  cages?  they  may  have 
asked  themselves  sometimes.  They  were 
stronger,  swifter,  keener  of  sight,  keener 
of  ear:  did  the  little  contents  of  the 
brain -cavity  make  such  a  difference? 
They  were  there  at  least,  and  the  rustic 
beaux  poked  at  them  with  their  sticks, 
and  made  the  rustic  belles  laugh  ;  and  the 
children  shouted  over  the  monkeys,  and 
drew  back  from  the  elephant's  trunk ;  and 
the  sea-lions  splashed,  and  a  young  hip- 
popotamus yawned  portentously  ;  and  al- 
together it  was  a  very  interesting  men- 
agerie. 

An  opening  led  into  the  next  tent, 
where  the  performances  of  the  ring  were 
about  to  take  place.  The  spectacle  here 
presented  was  the  familiar  one  of  a  cir- 
cular space  covered  with  sawdust,  and 
enclosed  by  a  low  barrier.  Clusters  of 
lamps  encircled  the  large  pole  rising  in 
the  centre,  and  rows  of  benches  extended 
from  the  ground  to  the  canvas  eaves. 
Opposite  the  entrance  was  another  open- 
ing leading  into  a  third  tent,  containing 
the  performers  and  horses.  Near  this 
opening  the  band  was  seated — they  were 
already  tuning  their  instruments,  and. 
stray  notes  mingled  now  and  then  with 
the  hum  and  buzz  of  anticipation. 

The  benches  were  already  filled  nearly 
to  overflowing.  On  the  left  were  the 
sons  and  daughters  of  Africa,  a  wild- 
eyed,  grinning  mass  of  bright  colors  and 
ebony,  who  always  start  with  delight  at 
the  announcement  that  a  circus  is  com- 
ing. On  the  right  was  the  white  audi- 
ence, composed  of  persons  of  every  class 
and  both  sexes.  The  rustic  and  urban 
mingled  in  harmonious  union — the  Cau- 
casian facing  the  African  ;  the  Mongolian 


30 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


was  not  there  yet,  though  he  may  make 
his  appearance  some  day  in  spite  of  Mr. 
Dennis  Kearney.  In  some  seats  divided 
off  from  the  rest,  and  comfortably  cush* 
ioned,  sat  Brantz  Elliot  and  Nelly  Welles, 
and  not  far  from  them  Mr.  Lascelles  and 
Miss  Juliet  Armstrong. 

It  was  really  a  very  dazzling  spectacle 
with  its  brilliant  lights,  and  there  was  an 
aura  which  excited  and  raised  the  spirits. 
it  crowd  exerts  a  certain  magnetic 
effect.  You  may  be  a  philosopher,  and 
smile  serenely  at  the  general  excitement, 
but  you  end  by  sharing  it.  And  this 
crowd  was  very  much  excited,  as  crowds 
at  circuses  almost  always  are,  for  the  cir- 
cus is  one  of  the  great  popular  institu- 
tions of  the  modern  world.  It  replaces 
the  Olympian  festivals  of  antiquity,  and 
with  its  lights,  resounding  music,  splendid 
dresses,  and  wonderful  feats,  exactly  satis- 
fies the  demand  of  the  populus.  The  eye 
and  ear  are  enormously  delighted,  if  not 
the  mind.  It  is  not  Lear  or  Hamlet, 
where  the  human  soul  is  dissected,  and 
there  is  nothing  resembling  the  sweet 
charm  of  Juliet's  love-dream.  But  then 
there  is  Mr.  Merry  man,  the  clown,  who 
supplies  tho  place  of  Touchstone,  if  not 
of  Falstail;  and  fine  horses,  and  superb 
bare-back  riders  and  athletes,  all  in  won- 
drous costumes,  climbing,  leaping,  and 
living,  and  chasing  the  flying  hours, 
under  da/./ling  lights,  to  the  sound  of 
music.  At  this  the  populus 
thrills.  Look  at  the  faces  packed  to- 
gether on  the  benches  yonder.  There 
is  no  trace  of  ennui  there.  You  of  the 
may  u'"  in  kid  gloves  and  opera 
to  your  city  theatres,  to  enjoy 
Mr.  liooth  in  tragedy  or  Mr.  Jefferson 
in  comedy.  Yon  may  listen  \\ith  critical 
car-  to  the  inline  of  Mr.  Thomas  or  the 
of  Madame  I'atti;  your  enjoyment 
is  ;e>thetic,  hut  the  pnpulus  docs  not  even 
undeistand  the  meaning  "f  the  word.  It 
flocks  to  the  circus,  as  the  ] 'nonius  Ro- 
manus  once  thr< mired  to  the  amphitheatre' 
n  and  the  lighting  of  the 
gladiators. 

Suddenly   the   music  burst  forth,  and 
the  wonderful  wonder  began. 


XII. 

SOME   CHILDREN   OF  THE   RING. 

IT  was  a  very  good  circus.  Six  Hun- 
garian horses,  jet  black,  with  silver-plated 
trappings,  and  rosettes  on  their  heads, 
darted  into  the  ring,  driven  by  long  silk- 
en reins  in  the  hands  of  a  woman.  She 
was  a  brilliant  young  creature  with  flash- 
ing eyes  and  rosy  cheeks,  and  her  costume 
chiefly  consisted  of  stockinet,  and  a  very 
scant  gauze  skirt.  She  drove,  standing 
on  the  point  of  one  satin  slipper,  on  the 
horse  in  rear,  and  the  other  foot  was 
pointed  at  an  angle  behind  her,  as  if  the 
laughing  maiden  had  just  spurned  some- 
thing. This  was  Mademoiselle  Clare  de 
Lune,  as  any  one  could  see  from  the 
handbills.  She  was  a  light-hearted  girl, 
who  evidently  enjoyed  life,  and  thought 
pirouetting  before  a  crowd  charming 
amusement.  Having  flashed  around  the 
ring,  kissing  her  hand,  and  changing 
from  one  foot  to  the  other  on  her  steed, 
she  began  to  exhibit  the  accomplishments 
of  her  Hungarians.  At  the  signal  they 
stopped  suddenly  and  wheeled  in  circles, 
and  were  mixed  up  hopelessly  ;  then  they 
promptly  untangled  themselves,  and  re- 
sumed the  gallop  in  a  long,  streami 
line.  Then  Mademoiselle  Clare  de  Li 
placed  her  extremities  upon  two  ho 
and  drove  the  rest.  Then  the  rush  be- 
came more  furious;  the  plated  harness 
clashed,  the  steeds  broke  into  line  again, 
and,  kissing  her  hand  amidst  applause, 
Miss  de  Lune  was  borne  away  out  of  tl 
ring. 

Mademoiselle  Zephyr  succeeded  her 
a  milk-white  steed  without  saddle 
bridle,  and  clad  in  a  costume  scant 
even  than  Miss  de  Lime's.  Then 
unequalled  male  performers  of  the  I'nri- 
valled  Combination  came  on  in  their  turn  ; 
the  ring  was  one  great  melee  of  flashing 
costumes  and  rushing  steeds.  Then  they 
vanished  as  they  came,  at  a  furious  gallop, 
and  the  audience  hurst  into  shouts  of  ap- 


and  lauhter. 


„ 


The  applause  was  meant,  no  doubt,  f< 
the  unequalled  bare-back  riders,  but  the 
lauirhter   was   caused   by  Mr.  Merry] 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


31 


That  gentleman  rose  apparently  from  the 
earth  beneath  the  feet  of  the  horses,  and 
came  forward,  bowing  and  grimacing. 

He  was  a  singular  liguro  in  stockinet 
and  short  pantaloons,  surrounded  by  red 
stripes.  His  legs  were  as  thin  as  pipe- 
stems,  and  lie  wore  a  fool's-cap  with  a 
tassel.  Ilis  cheeks  and  lips  were  daubed 
with  carmine,  and  his  corked  mnstaehe 
curled  toward  his  ears.  This  was  the 
figure,  which  came  forward  grimacing 
with  intense  enjoyment,  and  bowing  un- 
til his  frame  described  an  exact  right 
angle. 

Mr.  Merryman  made  an  address,  in 
which  he  congratulated  the  audience 
upon  seeing  him  again.  "His  own  feel- 
he  said,  "  were  inexpressible,  and  he 
would  therefore  not  express  them.  This 
very  large  and  intelligent  congregation  of 
miserable  sinners  had  a  great  pleasure  be- 
fore them.  They  had  seen  the  animals, 
their  first  cousins  according  to  Mr.  Dar- 
win— the  Syrian  jackass,  the  tiger,  and 
the  monkeys.  They  would  now  have  a 
rarer  enjoyment  than  this,  or  his  own 
society  even — the  wonderful  feats  of  the 
celebrated  Senor  Karl." 

The  brass  band  burst  forth,  and  a  man 
came  slowly  into  the  ring  on  foot.  Hav- 
ing reached  the  middle  of  the  ring,  he 
made  the  professional  salute  by  raising 
one  hand  to  a  level  with  his  face  and 
letting  it  fall.  As  the  assistants  had  not 
arranged  some  weights  which  he  was  to 
lift,  he  stood  looking  at  the  audience  and 
they  at  him.  lie  was  broad-shouldered 
and  powerful.  As  he  wore  no  clothing 
but  stockinet,  and  velvet  pantaloons  reach- 
ing from  his  waist  to  the  middle  of  his 
thighs,  the  huge  muscles  of  his  chest  and 
limbs  could  be  seen  plainly.  His  head 
was  striking.  A  heavy  black  beard  and 
mustache  nearly  concealed  his  face.  His 
forehead  was  broad,  and  there  was  a  great 
space  between  the  eyes.  His  eyebrows 
were  black  and  heavy,  and  had  the  pecu- 
liarity of  nearly  uniting  in  the  middle, 
which  had  the  effect  of  giving  his  whole 
physiognomy  a  stern,  almost  savage  ex- 
pression. Otherwise  the  face  was  a  frank 
and  honest  one,  and  the  man's  glance  not 


at  all  fierce.  His  complexion  was  ruddy, 
apparently  from  drink,  but  6X0688  had  not 
yet  undermined  his  immense  physique. 
His  walk  was  firm,  and  his  carriage  erect, 
lie  was  evidently  as  hard  as  iron  from 
head  to  foot — a  Titan  trained  and  devel- 
oped to  the  highest  degree  of  plnViral 
force  by  the  prospect  of  two  hundred 
dollars  a  week,  probably  spent  for  the 
most  part  in  drink. 

When  the  weights  were  arranged  on 
the  platform,  supported  on  two  carpen- 
ters' benches,  the  Seiior  Karl  placed  his 
shoulders  beneath  the  platform,  braced 
himself  by  resting  his  hands  on  his 
knees;  then  his  muscles  rose  in  ridges, 
and  the  mass  ascended  about  a  foot.  As 
the  weight  was  two  or  three  thousand 
pounds  he  could  not  support  it  long. 
When  he  allowed  the  platform  to  fall 
back  with  a  crash,  and  came  out  drawing 
a  long  breath,  the  audience  testified  by 
their  loud  applause  that  they  were  satis- 
fied. 

Feats  on  the  trapeze  followed,  in  which 
performers  of  both  sexes  took  part. 
Some  of  these  were  very  curious,  and 
seem  to  nullify  the  Newtonian  princi- 
ple of  gravity  —  almost  to  reverse  it. 
When  Mademoiselle  Clare  de  Lune  wrap- 
ped the  instep  of  one  of  her  feet  around 
a  rope  hanging  from  the  summit  of  the 
trapeze  frame,  and,  hanging  head  down- 
ward, kissed  her  hand,  it  was  a  mystery 
how  she  supported  the  weight  of  her 
person  in  that  position;  and  how,  when 
she  fell,  she  managed  to  light  upon  her 
feet. 

The  Senor  Karl,  it  seemed,  had  another 
performance  to  go  through  with,  and,  af- 
ter an  interlude  of  bare-backers,  he  reap- 
peared in  the  ring.  His  performance, 
like  the  first,  was  to  be  an  exhibition  of 
strength.  One  of  the  leopards  of  the 
menagerie  had  been  trained  to  participate 
in  it,  and  it  consisted  in  ascending  the 
trapeze  ropes  with  the  animal  perched  on 
the  performer's  shoulder. 

He  advanced  to  the  middle  of  the  ring, 
looking  toward  the  opening  into  the  first 
tent,  and  the  keeper  there  loosed  the  ani- 
mal, which  bounded  into  the  arena.  He 


32 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


was  a  large  and  very  beautiful  leopard, 
with  fur  as  soft  as  velvet,  streaked  and 
spotted  with  black  and  yellow.  The  cat- 
like eyes  sparkled,  and  the  leopard  sprung 
at  the  man  growling — it  was  apparently 
a  part  of  the  performance :  a  glance  at 
his  face,  however,  made  this  doubtful, 
lit-  had  caught  the  leopard  by  the  throat 
as  if  to  defend  himself,  and  was  looking 
at  the  animal  with  an  expression  of  some 
surprise,  his  black  eyebrows  nearly  joined 
in  the  middle. 

For  nearly  a  minute  the  man  and  the 
animal  preserved  their  statuesque  atti- 
tudes, the  leopard  growling,  and  the  man 
apparently  only  preventing  him  by  main 
strength  from  fixing  his  teeth  in  him. 
ere  fixed  on  the  animal's,  and 
seemed  to  have  a  magnetic  effect.  The 
leopard  ceased  to  growl,  at  length,  crouch- 
ed down  with  a  sidelong  and  submissive 
glance,  and  at  the  order  sprung  and 
perched  himself  on  the  man's  shoulder. 

Then  the  performance  began,  and  the 
man  raised  himself  slowly,  hand -over- 
hand, by  a  single  rope,  ascending  to  the 
summit  of  the  trapeze.  Once  there  he 
paused.  A  moment  afterward  a  furious 
gn.wl  was  heard  from  the  man 'and  the 
animal  in  unison,  and  they  descended 
rapidly,  and  reached  the  sawdust.  AVhat 
had  happened  ?  Was  the  whole  a  part  of 
the  performance?  If  so,  the  performer 
.  very  excellent  actor.  He  seized 
the.  leopard  by  the  throat  at  the  moment 
when  the  animal  was  apparently  attempt- 
ing t"  eteap€  fn>m  him,  and,  throwing 
him  upon  the  ground,  placed  one  knee 
on  his  biva-t. 

The  audience  burst  into  applause,  but 
tin-  perf-T.  '1  in  no  mood  to  ac- 

knowledge it  —  he  ^  as  plainly  furious. 
His  blaek  eyebrows  had  made  the 
>traight  line  across  his  face,  and  the 
gasps  and  struggles  of  the  animal  left 
no  doubt  that  the  performer's  obje.-t  Wtt 
m irk1  him.  All  at  once  the  worthy 
Mr.  I»rownson  ru>hed  into  the  rim:.  Hi- 
face  was  red  and  his  eyes  lla-hed.  Tin- 
good  man  had<|uite  lost  his  self-possession, 
and  discharged  a  volley  of  oaths,  winding 
up  with  a  demand  what  all  this  meant. 


The 


The  performer  rose  to  his  feet, 
leopard  lay  still. 

"  He  bit  me  and  I  strangled  him !"  he 
said,  in  a  deep  voice  with  a  foreign  ac- 
cent. "  That  is  the  meaning  of  it." 

"  Strangle  my  best  leopard,  that  cost 
me  two   thousand  dollars !"  came   in 
howl  of  wrath  and  anguish. 

"He  nearly  cost  me  my  life;  but  T\ 
done  for  him,  and  I'm  glad  of  that." 

Having  made  this  response  in  a 
phlegmatic  and  unimpressed  voice,  the 
athlete  made  his  professional  salute  to 
the  audience  and  went  out  of  the  ring. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  Lefthander  ?"  said 
Clare  de  Lune,  running  to  him. 

The  Lefthander — which  seemed  to  be 
the  Senor  Karl's  designation  in  private 
life  —  put  his  finger  under  the  rosy  chin 
of  Miss  de  Lune,  and  laughed  slightly. 

"  I  choked  the  leopard  to  death  for 
biting  me,  and  old  Brownson  is  furioi 
he  said. 

"  Choked  the  leopard !" 

"  The  vermin  sunk  his  teeth  in  my 
shoulder.     You  can  see  it." 

Mademoiselle  de  Lune  had  been  lai 
ing,  but  suddenly  cried, 

"  Oh  me !    you  are  hurt,  Lefthan< 
you  are  bleeding !" 

Before  he  could  prevent  her  she  took 
her  white  gauze  skirt  and  pressed  it 
the  bleeding  shoulder. 

"  There,  you've  ruined  your  dress — just 
look  at  it!"  said  the  Lefthander.     "I'm 
not  hurt  in  the  least:   you  are  a  gc 
girl,  petite." 

They  then  parted.  As  to  the  leopard, 
he  had  been  dragged  out  of  the  ring,  and 
the  bare-backers  had  rushed  in.  The  in- 
cident was  apparently  forgotten. 

It  was  not  forgotten  by  one  person — 
Mr.  Lascelles  —  and  had  impressed  Mi>s 
Juliet  Armstrong. 

"  A  very  strange  incident,"  she  said. 
"  Was  it  real,  or  a  part  of  the  perform- 
ance ?" 

"  I  think  the  incident  was  a  real  one," 
said  Mr.  Lascelles,  suddenly  recovering, 
apparently,  from  a  fit  of  the  deepest  ab- 
straction. 

"The    leopard    must   have    bit    hit 


^V-Ifc. 

: 


- 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


33 


What  a  singular- looking  person!"  .-aid 
Miss  Juliet. 

"  Very  singular,"  said  Mr.  Lascelles, 
with  a  peculiar  expression  upon  his  face. 
It  was  hard  to  read  tin1  expression  —  it 
seemed  one  of  vague  astonishment ;  and 
it  had  been  there  from  the  moment  of 
the  Lefthander's  first  entrance. 

"  What  is  his  name  ?  1  mean  the  leop- 
ard-slayer," said  Miss  Juliet,  with  mild 
interest. 

"His  name?     I  do  not  know.     How 

Should  I- 

Mr.  Lascelles  stopped  suddenly.  What 
was  he  saying  ?  He  laughed,  and  begged 
his  companion  to  pardon  his  rudeness — 
he  was  growing  so  absent-minded  that 
lie  felt  really  ashamed  of  himself.  The 
performer's  name?  He  would  ascertain. 
And  having  procured  a  bill  from  the 
attendant  stationed  at  the  entrance  to 
the  reserved  seats,  he  brought  it  back, 
and  presented  it  with  a  bow  to  the  young 
lady. 

"  He  is  called  the  Seiior  Karl,"  he  said, 
with  an  air  of  indifference. 

And  as  the  acrobats  at  this  moment 
entered,  the  subject  of  the  Senor  Karl 
quite  disappeared  from  Miss  Juliet's  men- 
tal horizon. 

XIII. 

MOUSE. 

HAVING  parted  with  Clare  de  Lune, 
;he  Lefthander  —  to  adopt  the  private 
name  of  the  Senor  Karl — went  to  a  slit 
in  the  canvas,  opened  it  slightly,  and  fix- 
ed his  eyes  on  Mr.  Lascelles,  who  sat  in 
the  full  light  of  a  circle  of  globe  lamps. 
For  some  moments  he  scrutinized  him 
closely,  with  a  very  moody  expression  on 
:iis  face.  He  then  muttered, 

"  It  is  the  man  or  his  ghost !  I  am 
sure  of  him.  What  is  he  doing  here  I" 

After  a  few  minutes  he  walked  away 
and  went  into  a  side  compartment  of  the 
.arge  tent.  Here  he  sat  down  on  an 
empty  box,  upon  which  lay  a  short  meer- 
schaum pipe  and  a  pouch  of  smoking  to- 
bacco, which  he  had  probably  placed  there 
when  he  went  into  the  ring.  He  filled  the 
3 


pip*1,  lit  it  from  a  match  taken  from  the 
pouch,  and,  leaning  one  of  his  ponderous 
elbows  on  his  knee,  began  to  smoke  — 
looking  thoughtfully,  as  he  did  so,  at  tbe 
linely  caparisoned  horses  without,  with 
their  riders  standing  beside  them,  which 
he  could  do  through  the  opening.  At  a 
signal  the  horses  and  riders  passed  at  a 
swift  gallop  and  darted  into  the  ring. 
The  Lefthander  then  concentrated  his 
attention  upon  two  figures  seated  upon 
some  bags  of  oats  opposite  his  box, 
smoking  his  pipe  tranquilly  with  an  air 
of  enjoyment,  and  looking  at  them  with 
interest. 

They  were  a  picturesque  little  group — 
a  slender  young  fellow  of  about  twenty, 
clad  precisely  like  the  Lefthander  in  close- 
fitting  stockinet  and  velvet  pantaloons; 
and  a  child,  apparently  about  ten,  dressed 
as  a  ballet  girl.  This  dress  consisted  of 
a  blue  satin  body,  and  a  white  muslin 
skirt  reaching  about  to  her  knees,  where 
it  was  joined  by  flesh-colored  stockinet, 
ending  in  red  morocco  boots  fitting  tight- 
ly to  her  tiny  feet.  All  about  the  child, 
in  fact,  was  tiny — her  slender  limbs,  her 
delicate  arms,  which  were  bare,  and  her 
features.  Her  hair  was  of  a  dark  auburn, 
and  fell  on  her  bare  shoulders  in  short 
curls;  when  she  raised  her  eyes  you  saw 
that  they  were  large  and  blue,  and  had 
a  very  earnest  little-womanish  expression. 
At  the  moment  she  was  seated  upon  one 
of  the  bags,  with  her  left  foot  over  her 
right  knee,  chalking  the  sole  of  her  boot 
— a  proceeding  which  both  the  young 
man,  who  was  leaning  back  on  his  elbow, 
and  the  Lefthander,  who  was  smoking 
his  pipe,  contemplated  with  interest.  As, 
after  rubbing  away  with  the  chalk  for  a 
moment,  the  child  uttered  a  slight  sigh, 
the  Lefthander,  taking  his  pipe  out  of  his 
mouth,  said, 

"Tired,  Mouse?" 

The  voice  which  asked  this  question 
was  not  the  same  which  had  said  briefly, 
"  He  bit  me  and  I  strangled  him !"  to 
Manager  Brownson.  It  was  quite  differ- 
ent, and  had  something  caressing  about  it. 

"  No,  I  am  not  much  tired ;  but  it's  a 
tiresome  sort  of  business,  this  dancing  and 


34 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


prancing,"  said  the  small  lady  addressed 
as  Mi  nise ;  "  but  I  suppose  I'll  have  to  put 
up  with  it." 

"  I  don't  know.  I  don't  altogether  like 
it.  You  ought  to  be  at  school,  Mouse." 

"Me,  at  school?  Away  from  you? 
What  in  the  world  would  become  of 
you  ?" 

Having  reflected  on  this,  the  Lefthand- 
er said, 

"  Well,  you  are  right,  perhaps.  I 
couldn't  very  well  get  along  without 
hearing  my  Mouse  squeak  sometimes,  and 
would  feel  a  little  lost,  probably." 

"And  Gentleman  Joe,  and  Harry, what 
would  they  do  ?  What  would  you  all  do, 
if  I  was  not  here  to  take  care  of  you?" 
Mouse  said,  with  a  business  air. 

"  Really,  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said 
the  Lefthander,  lost  in  reflection;  "the 
fact  is,  we  would  all  probably  go  to  the 
dogs,  which  is  not  a  very  good  place  to 
go  to." 

He  smoked  for  a  moment,  and  then 
added,  "  But  we  might  all  tramp  off  some- 
where together." 

"  Oh,  that  would  be  grand,  poppa !"  ex- 
claimed Mouse,  with  enthusiasm.  She 
called  it  "pop  —  ah,"  emphasizing  the 
-liable,  and  gesticulated  with  the 
hand  holding  the  chalk  as  she  spoke. 

"  Would  you  like  to  give  up  dancing 
on  the  tight-rope,  Mouse?" 

"Give  it  up!  I'd  get  down  on  my 
knees  and  bless  the  day !  I'm  all  the 
time  thinking  my  foot's  going  to  slip  and 
I'll  fall;  and  the  crowd  always  looks  at 
me  as  if  I  was — well,  a  whole  menagerie, 
including  the  rhinoceros  and  the  griz/.lv 

bear!*1 

The  Lefthander  uttered  a  slight  grunt, 
which  might  have  indicated  either  amuse- 
ment at  or  sympathy  with  this  view  of 
thii, 

"And,  then,"  he  said,  "the  way  of  liv- 
ing i>  n«'t  BO  \rry  \f 1  a  way  of  living 

f»r  a  small  bndy  like  you.  The  life  of 
circus  men  and  women  is  n<>t  an  ca>y  life 
— it  is  a  very  hard  life." 

"I  should  say  it  was  I"  M-.u-e  returned, 
with  aristocratic  scorn  ;  "  sleeping  in  hay- 
stacks half  the  time,  and  prancing  about 


from  one  place  to  another,  and  having 
boxes  to  sit  on  instead  of  easy-chairs ;  and 
being  Mademoiselle  Celestine  Delavan,  in- 
stead of  a  body's  real  name !  It's  not  re- 
spectable !" 

Mouse  was  evidently  resenting  among 
other  things  her  designation  on  the  play- 
bills, which  was  "  Mademoiselle  Celestine 
Delavan,"  as  she  intimated ;  her  more  fa- 
miliar appellation  being  that  by  which 
she  was  known  among  her  friends. 

"  Well,"  the  Lefthander  said,  grunting, 
and  looking  with  a  meditative  air,  as  he 
smoked,  at  the  child's  delicate  face  and 
curls,  "the  fact  is,  you're  a  very  little 
body,  Mignon,  to  be  a  public  character. 
You  were  made  for  a  lady,  and  to  have  a 
big  doll,  about  the  size  of  yourself ;  and 
to  be  tucked  in  bed  at  night,  not  sleep  in 
hay-stacks.  You  look  like  a  sylph  in  the 
operas:  I  have  acted  in  operas.  The 
first  wind  would  blow  you  away,  if  it 
blew  tolerably  hard;  it  needn't  be  very 
hard.  You  oughtn't  to  be  doing  this 
tight  -  rope  business ;  money's  not  so 
much." 

"  Well,  I  don't  mind  it,"  said  the 
consequential   Mouse,  "and   I   have 
money,  as  I  don't  allow  my  poppa  to  hi 
anything  to  do  with  it." 

"  Your  poppa  don't  mean  to  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  it.  It's  laid  up — what 
you  call  invested." 

"  What's  in  rested  r  said  Mouse.  "  You 
let  me  give  it  away." 

"  Yes,  to  poor  people  and  the  ones  that 
suffer.  That's  imrxtnt"  said  the  Left- 
hander, smoking.  "  That's  why  I  let  you 
do  the  rope  business — you  would  go  on 
plaguing  me  till  I  consented  to  it.  You 
were  tired  idling,  you  said — but  I  want 
you  to  be  idle." 

Mouse  shook  her  head  by  way  of  pro- 
test, but  the  Lefthander  persisted  in  his 

new. 

"  What  business  is  it  of  a  mite  like  you 
to  work  for  money?"  he  said.  "1  nev.-r 
meant  you  to  follow  this  tradt — I'm  tit 
for  nothing  else  myself,  but  that's  differ- 
ent. I've  stuck  at  it  so  long  that  I'm 
set  in  the  grooves.  I  go  to  it  like  a 
wagon  -  horse,  and  do  my  work  out 


VIKCIXIA  BOHEMIANS. 


35 


out — hew  to  the  line ;  but  I'm  rather  tired 
of  it." 

"Arc  you  really?"  Mouse  said,  ear- 
nestly. 

"  Uather,  Million;  and  sometimes  I 
think  I'll  take  you  and  go  off  and  live 
quietly  somewhere.  You'd  have  the  flow- 
ers and  the  sunshine,  you  see,  and  go  to 
sleep  when  the  birds  do,  instead  of  hop- 
ping up  and  down  on  a  tight-rope  till  mid- 
night. I  think  I'll  take  you." 

Mouse  was  chalking  her  boot,  but  at 
these  words  she  stopped.  Her  eyes  spar- 
kled. 

"Do  you  think  you  will?"  she  ex- 
claimed. 

"  I  really  do.  I  don't  see  what  better 
I  can  do  than  look  after  my  young  one. 
I'm  a  big  fellow,  and  can  lift  heavy 
•weights,  and  when  animals  fall  out  with 
me,  as  one  did  to-night,  I  can  do  for  'em 
— but  that's  not  much.  The  best  thing 
to  do  is  to  look  after  the  young  ones." 

A  wonderful  expression  of  softness 
came  to  the  rugged  face  as  he  looked  at 
the  child.  It  quite  changed  its  whole  ap- 
pearance. 

"  Yes,"  he  added,  with  a  nod ;  "  I  think 
I'll  retire  from  public  life  before  long." 

"Do  you  really  —  really,  poppa?" 
Mou so,  repeated,  in  ecstasies. 

"  Yes,  and  you  and  I  will  go  off  to  the 
country,  and  live  in  a  quiet  way.  I'll 
put  on  a  plain  suit  of  clothes,  and  you 
will  have  a  little  frock  reaching  down  be- 
low your  knees,  and  good  black  shoes — 
not  a  gauze  skirt  and  fancy  boots  like 
that,  made  of  red  morocco  —  and  go  to 
school,  and  see  the  grass  and  the  flowers 
grow,  and  hear  the  birds  sing  from  morn- 
ing till  night." 

The  Lefthander  stopped  to  utter  his 
grunt  of  mild  enjoyment. 

"  I  think  I  could  stand  'em,  and  keep 
away  from  the  bar-rooms,"  he  said,  "  on 
your  account,  Mignon.  Yes,  I  could  stand 
that,  and  I  could  work  for  you  like  a  good 
poppa;  and  smoke  my  pipe  and  live  re- 
spectably, as  you  said  just  now  —  didn't 
you  \  But  then  there's  a  difficulty." 

Mouse,  cast  down  from  her  eminence 
of  joy,  turned  her  head  suddenly. 


"  What  would  you  do  without  Harry  '." 
said  the  Lefthander,  nodding  toward  the 
third  member  of  the  group.  This  was 
the  young  fellow  in  stockinet  who  \\as 
leaning  back  on  one  ell>ow  on  the  bags 
of  grain,  and  had  listened  to  the  whole 
conversation  with  a  smile. 

"  There's  Harry  to  think  of,"  the  Left- 
hander said. 

"And  Gentleman  Joe,"  said  a  melan- 
choly voice  behind  them. 

At  this  all  looked  up  and  saw  Mr.  Mer- 
ryman.  He  had  just  come  out  of  the 
ring,  and  the  expression  both  of  his  faec 
and  figure  had  completely  changed.  The 
tumbling,  dancing,  grimacing  Mr.  Merry- 
man  had  given  way  to  a  rather  melan- 
choly old  fellow,  who  stood  calmly  erect, 
and  looked  quite  sad.  Looking  at  him 
you  were  apt  to  recall  the  legend  of  the 
poor  jester  on  the  stage  who  threw  the 
crowd  into  ecstasies,  and  then  retired 
behind  the  scenes  to  the  bedside  of  his 
dying  child. 

lie  was  given  to  such  changes  of  mood, 
even  in  private,  this  eccentric  old  Gentle- 
man Joe.  His  comrades  said  there  was 
a  "crack"  in  him  somewhere — a  screw 
loose  in  his  mental  machinery.  He  al- 
ternated between  extravagant  mirth  and 
depressing  sadness.  The  least  circum- 
stance made  him  laugh  or  brought  tears 
to  his  eyes.  Sighs  and  smiles  chased 
each  other  over  his  thin  old  face;  and 
there  really  did  seem  to  be  something  the 
matter  with  him.  His  memory  was  very 
unstable,  and  he  could  not  tell  the  name 
of  the  last  place  which  he  had  performed 
at  after  an  interval  of  two  or  three  days. 
As  to  his  past  life,  it  seemed  to  be  a  blank 
to  him,  and  nothing  more  was  known  of 
him  than  that  he  had  been  connected  for 
a  long  time  with  the  company,  and  that 
his  name  was  Vance.  He  and  his  son 
Harry,  the  young  fellow  leaning  on  the 
bags  of  oats,  were  both  very  popular 
with  their  comrades.  Gentleman  Joe 
was  an  especial  favorite.  He  A\ 
amiable,  and  so  ready  to  do  an  act  of 
kindness,  that  everybody  was  his  friend. 
He  was  treated  with  the  utmost  regard, 
but  never  with  undue  familiarity,  in  spite 


36 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


of  his  undignified  position  in  the  troupe, 
for  there  was  something  about  Gentle- 
man Joe  which  completely  discouraged 
intrusive  people.  He  was  very  easy  and 
friendly,  but  no  one  had  over  been  known 
to  slap  him  on  the  shoulder  or  indulge  in 
liberties  with  him.  Even  Manager  Brown- 
son,  who  was  a  dictatorial  person,  never 
spoke  imperiously  to  GentU-maii  Joe — a 
name  which  had  evidently  been  bestowed 
upon  him  from  the  mild  courtesy  of  his 
manners. 

"  And  Gentleman  Joe  —  what  would 
poor  old  Gentleman  Joe  do  without  you, 
Mouse?"  he  said  now  to  the  child. 

.Mouse  seemed  equal  to  the  occasion, 
and  promptly  replied : 

"  Why  of  course  you  and  Harry  would 
go  with  us,  Gentleman  Joe.  You  don't 
for  one  minute  think  that  I  could  get 
along  without  you  and  Harry,  any  more 
than  you  could  get  along  without  me  ?" 

"  It  would  be  a  hard  business,  a  very 
hard  business,  indeed,"  said  Gentleman 
Joe,  shaking  his  head ;  "  and  as  to  Har- 
ly'fl  not  having  you  to  tease,  he  would 
lose  his  good  spirits  and  pine  away." 

"I  certainly  would,  Mouse,"  said  the 
young  fellow,  laughing.  "  I'd  miss  my 
grandma  every  hour." 

"Would  you,  really,  you  good-for- 
nothing  plague?"  Mouse  said,  affection- 
ately. "  Well,  I  can  tell  you  one  thing 
—  it  would  IT  had  for  you.  If  ever  there 
•.  young  man  who  required  looking 
after,  and  to  have  somebody  to  keep  him 
straight,  it's  you!" 

u  Li-ten  to  grandma!"  was  the  response. 
"The  old  ladyV  begun  her  di.seoursc.  It's 
a  weakness  with  her." 

?or  you  mind,  >ir.  You'll  come  to 
a  bad  end  if  you  don't  take  can — mark 
my  word-." 

"I  liopi-  not,"  the  young  fellow  said; 
''ami  you  oughtn't  to  he  thinking  «•!'  go- 
ing a.  .  if  I  iv.juiiv  moral  1,-ct- 
uring  so  much." 

"  You  and  (lentlVman  Joe  can  come 
with  us.  What  is  to  prevent  you.  -ir.'" 

"I  don't  think  that  would  suit  ;  would 
it,  father 

"  I'm  afraid  it  would  not,"  Gentleman 


Joe  replied,  shaking  his  head ;  "  not 
that  I  like  being  Mr.  Merryman.  I  do 
not  like  it  at  all ;  but  I  am  growing  old 
now,  Mouse,  and  old  people  find  it  hard 
to  give  up  their  pursuits  and  follow  dif- 
ferent ones.  I  was  not  a  clown  always — 
though  I  can't  say  I  remember  exactly 
what  I  used  to  be.  My  memory  is  not 
so  good  as  it  was.  I  lived  somewhere — 
I  forget  precisely  where — and  was  not  a 
clown.  It  amuses  me  to  laugh  and  make 
the  crowd  laugh — sometimes.  I  don't 
think  I  should  like  altogether  to  give  up 
the  old  trade." 

"But  we'd  be  so  happy,  Gentleman 
Joe !"  Mouse  persisted,  with  great  earnest- 
ness. "  Think  of  the  birds  and  the  flow- 
ers ;  and  then,  we  needn't  give  up  every- 
thing. We  might  come  to  it  by  degrees, 
you  know.  "We  might  make  up  a  little 
troupe  of  our  own,  and  go  about  the 
country,  and  perform  in  a  quiet  way." 

"  Really,  I  never  thought  of  that,"  said 
Gentleman  Joe. 

"  Nor  I,"  said  the  Lefthander ;  "  tlu 
not  a  bad  idea,  Harry." 

"  Not  a  bad  idea  at  all,"  said  the  yoi 
man. 

"  It's  a  very  good  idea,"  said  Gentlei 
Joe. 

Mouse  saw  that  she  had  made  an 
pression,  and  this  always  stimulates 
to  further  eloquence. 

"  I  am  glad  to  find  that  you  lords  of 
creation  have  some  good-sense  left  after 
all,"  she  said.  "If  1  tnn  a  mouse  I  can 
squeak  what's  reasonable,  and  not  non- 
Mfflse  such  as  I  generally  hear  from  that 
good-for-nothing  young  man  there,  who 
is  looking  at  my  ankles  while  he  is  pick- 
ing his  teeth  with  a  straw!"  said  Mouse, 
severely.  "Of  course  it's  a  good  idea! 
Think!  1'oppa  could  lift  weights  and 
perform  on  the  ropes,  and  you  and  (leii- 
tleinan  Joe  could  do  the  juggling,  Harry  !" 

u  And  the  Mr.  Merryman  business," 
said  Gentleman  Joe,  reflecting. 

"And  I  could  play  the  tambourine!'' 
said  Mouse,  "and  take  around  the  hat! 
And  we  could  get  a  hand-organ  and  a 
little  monkey  —  a  small  one  with  a  red 
(•oat,  and  a  feather  in  his  cap  !" 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


37 


"Really,  tli.it  sounds  like  business, 
Mouse,"  said  the  Lefthander.  "  \Ve  could 
buy  a  light  wai^-ii  and  a  horse  to  rarry 
the  properties,  and  a  small  tent  and  the 
rest  —  and  there  you  are.  We'd  be  a 
troupe  of  Bohemians,  which  is  not  a  bad 
tiling  to  be.  \Ye  would  have  no  more  to 
do  with  this  beastly  old  Brown8on,andyou 
would  not  have  to  pirouette  any  more — " 

"  Before  coin  UK  m  people  and  servants," 
Gentleman  Joe  said,  with  the  air  of  an 
aristocrat.  "  That  is  the  best  of  all — isn't 
it,  Mouse  ?" 

"  Oh  yes  !  yes,  indeed  !"  exclaimed  the 
delighted  Mouse,  "and  we  will  be  free — 
free  !  \\Y  needn't  act  unless  we  want  to. 
We  can  stop  anywhere  we  choose  —  on 
the  side  of  the  road  in  the  grassy  fence 
corners,  or  under  the  trees ;  and  I'll  boil 
the  pot,  poppa,  and  cook  for  everybody ; 
and  you  shall  smoke  your  pipe,  and  Har- 
ry shall  be  just  as  good-for-nothing  as  he 
pleases ;  and  you  and  me,  Gentleman  Joe, 
will  walk  off  and  hear  the  birds  sing,  and 
you'll  pet  me,  and  maybe  take  me  up  and 
carry  me  if  I  am  tired,  as  there's  not 
much  of  me — for  you  know  you  always 
liked  me  better  than  anybody  in  all  this 
wicked  world !" 

Mouse  stopped,  out  of  breath.  Sud- 
denly a  sort  of  growl  was  heard  near 
them,  and  turning  in  the  direction  of  this 
sound  they  saw  Manager  Brownson.  He 
was  very  red  indeed  in  the  face,  probably 
the  result  of  recent  potations,  and  scowled 
fiercely,  striking  his  stick  upon  the  ground 
as  he  did  so. 

"  What  does  this  mean  ?  What  are 
you  trifling  here  for  ?"  cried  Mr.  Brown- 
son.  "Don't  you  hear  the  audience 
howling,  and  getting  the  devil  in  'em  ?" 

"I  have  just  returned  from  the  ring," 
said  Gentleman  Joe,  with  dignity;  "and 
I  will  add  that  your  tone  of  voice  is  un- 
pleasant, sir." 

"Curse  my  tone  of  voice — hear  'em! 
they're  breaking  down  the  benches ! — 
There's  nobody  in  the  ring !" 

He  turned  furiously  to  Mouse  and  said, 

"This    is    your    private     parlor,    eh? 

ou're  entertaining  y< 
your  turn  to  go  on  !" 


Mou  si-  shrunk  a  little  from  the  inflamed 
eyes. 

"Get  up!"  cried  Mr.  Brownson. 

"  I  haven't  chalked  my  shoos  —  I  will 
soon  be  ready,  sir,"  the  child  said,  with 
alarm.  She  then  hastily  rublu-d  her  shoes 
in  a  nervous  manner,  and  rose  hastily  to 
her  feet. 

"Hear  Yin!"  evlaimed  Mr.  Manager 
Brownson,  digging  his  cane  into  the 
ground  with  fury  as  the  prolonged  thun- 
der of  impatience  came  from  the  main 
tent.  "Hear  'em  —  they'll  split  the 
benches !" 

These  words  were  addressed  to  the 
Lefthander,  who  had  continued  quietly  to 
smoke  his  pipe,  while  Mouse,  Gentleman 
Joe,  and  Harry  hastened  off. 

"  Do  you  hear  ?"  cried  the  manager. 

"Hear  what?"  said  the  Lefthander, 
tranquilly. 

"That  infernal  row — the  audience  arc 
wild." 

"  Yes,  I  hear  it — it  is  loud  enough  for 
that,"  said  the  Lefthander,  with  great 
composure. 

"  And  that  girl's  the  cause  of  it — it's 
her  neglect !" 

"  Neglect  of  what  ?" 

"  Her  business !" 

"That  is  a  lie!"  said  the  Lefthander. 

Manager  Brownson  stood  for  a  mo- 
ment looking  at  the  personage  who  utter- 
ed these  calm  words,  with  a  species  of 
stupor.  The  world  was  plainly  coming 
to  an  end.  Could  he  believe  his  ears? 
He,  Manager  Brownson,  proprietor  of  the 
Unrivalled  Combination  of  Attractions, 
had  been  informed  to  his  face  that  a 
statement  which  he  made  was  "  a  lie  !" 

"  Wh — what  do  you  mean  ?"  he  gasped. 

The  Lefthander  rose  erect  slowly,  hav- 
ing first  knocked  the  ashes  from  his 
pipe  and  laid  it  upon  the  box  1-oide 
him. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  in  a  calm  and  matter- 
of-fact  voice,  "I  mean  that  what  you 
say  about  Mouse  is  a  lie — she  was  not 
called ;  she's  always  ready,  and  brings 
you  in  double  what  you  pay  her.  As  for 
you,  I  will  tell  you  what  I  think  of  you: 
you  are  an  old  beast !  And  I  will  give 


38 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


you  a  little  advice.  Let  Mouse  alone ; 
it  will  be  better  for  you." 

There  was  no  doubt  at  all  about  the 
meaning  of  these  words,  and  the  expres- 
sion of  the  speaker's  face  was  not  encour- 
aging. The  black  eyebrows  had  united 
in  the  middle,  and  the  ponderous  left 
hand  slowly  closed.  Manager  Brownson 
changed  color;  a  personal  collision  with 
the  athlete  seemed  imminent;  when  a 
cry  was  heard  from  the  main  tent,  where 
Mouse  was  going  through  her  perform- 
ance. Something  had  evidently  happen- 
ed. Had  Mouse  met  with  any  accident? 

The  Lefthander  turned  his  back  on 
Manager  Brownson,  and  hastened  to  the 
opening  in  the  canvas  through  which  his 
figure  disappeared. 


XIV. 

AN    ACCIDENT. 

MOUSE  had,  in  fact,  met  with  an  acci- 
dent. After  the  angry  colloquy  with  the 
manager,  she  and  Gentleman  Joe  had 
.ed  into  the  ring,  which  was  unoc- 
cupied at  the  moment  by  any  of  the  per- 
formers—  hence  the  impatience  of  the 
audience.  It  was  a  fixed  habit  with  old 
Gentleman  Joe  to  thus  act  as  the  child's 
escort,  lit-  was  very  much  devoted  to  her, 
and  saw  that  the  sight  of  the  great  sea 
i if  heads  and  eyes  generally  frightened 
her  a  little  ;  so  he  always  ki  went  on"  with 
IPT,  and  thus  diverted  to  himself  a  part 
of  the  public  attention.  This  was  a  proof 
of  Gentleman  .Joe's  deliejiey  of  M-ntiment, 
as  well  as  of  his  affection  for  Mouse. 
This  thin-faced  old  clown  was  not  a  mere 
raeny-andrew ;  you  eould  see  that,  lie 

had  about  him  the  indescribable  some- 
thing which  indicates  elevation  of  char- 
and  his  manner,  and  the  tone-,  .,f 
hi-  roice,  when  he  was  speaking  to  the 
child,  hail  that  suavity  which  marks  high- 
bred pel-suns. 

As  they  entered  the  riinr,  <  ientleman 
Joe's  expression  changed  at  once.  11, 
executed  a  Ljrimaee,  and,  bending  his 
hoi ly  forward  at  a  ri^ht  angle,  extended 
his  left  elbow  horizontally  toward  M«m>e. 


,t 

"lie 


aen 
set, 

;:: 


who  took  the  arm  offered.  He  then 
stepped  out  with  his  right  foot,  putting 
it  down  cautiously,  as  if  he  were  walking 
upon  eggs,  and  escorted  Mouse  to  the 
spot  where  a  tight -rope  was  stretched 
over  forks  about  ten  feet  from  the  ground. 

"  Ladies  and  gen-tle-men,"  said  Gen 
man  Joe,  "  I  have  the  honor  to  introdu 
to  you  my  young  friend,  Mademoise 
Celestine  Delavan,  who  will  perform  for 
your  amusement  upon  what  is  called, 
the  common  people,  the  tight-rope." 

In  the  midst  of  applause,  Gentlem 
Joe  then  released  his  arm  from  Mouse 
grasp,  knelt  on  one  knee,  and  held  out 
his  hand.  The  child  placed  her  small 
foot  in  it.  and  Gentleman  Joe  tossed  her 
up  to  the  tight-rope,  and  handed  her  the 
long  balancing  -  pole ;  he  then  smiled, 
retired  backward,  looking  at  her  admir- 
ingly as  he  did  so,  fell  over  a  wooden 
block  behind  him,  turned  a  somer 
and  lit  upon  his  feet,  grimacing.  T 
performance  then  began. 

It  was  evident  that  the  child  was 
ease,  and  a  little  afraid  to  begin  her  per- 
formance.    This  was  so  plain  that  Mi 
Juliet  Armstrong,  who  seemed  to  be  mu 
interested  in  her,  said  to  Mr.  Lascelles, 

"  It  is  very  wrong  to  make  such  a  p 
little  thing  perform   in   public.     She 
afraid  of  falling ;    I  hope   she  will   n 
fall." 

"There  is  probably  no  danger,"  Mr. 
Lascelles  replied ;  "  these  people  are  al- 
ways well  trained." 

"But  she  is  such  a  wee  body,"  said 
sympathetic  Juliet   very  earnestly  for 
calm  a  person,  "and  quite  a  little  beau 
too." 

"Do  you  think  so?" 

"Don't  you?" 

"  Well,"  said  Mr.  Lascelles,  rather 
differently,  "I  really  had  not  looked  a 
her.  Yes,  she  is  tolerably  good-looking, 
and  a  mere  child,  as  you  B8J,  Mitt  Juliet." 

"She  is   too  young.     Look,  she 
tainly  is  frightened  —  she  is  clinging 
the  rope  with  her  feet  like  a  bird." 

This  was   true.      Mouse's   boots   \\ 
not  sulliciently   chalked,  which    is  csse 
tial    in  performances   on  the  tight -ro 


VIRGINIA    IlolIKMIANS. 


39 


Alarmed  by  tlic  angry  expression  and 
rough  address  of  the  manager,  the  child 
had  hastened  in  to  go  through  her  per- 
formance In-fore  she  \vas  ready  t<>  d<>  BO, 
The  smooth  soles  of  her  boots  made  hei 
foothold  insecure,  and  her  feet  were 
wrapped  around  the  tight  -  rope  in  the 
manner  noticed  hy  the  young  lady — as  a 
bird  grasps  the  hough  of  a  tree. 

Nevertheless,  Mouse  attempted  to  exe- 
cute her  part.  She  advanced  nervously, 
moving  her  long  balancing-pole  up  and 
down — her  foothold  was  evidently  uncer- 
tain, and  once  or  twice  her  feet  slipped, 
but  she  regained  her  equilibrium. 

"The  poor  little  thing!  look  at  her 
face,"  exclaimed  Juliet;  "she  is  fright- 
ened, and  is  going  to  fall !" 

Mouse  fell — her  foot  had  slipped,  and 
she  was  precipitated  from  the  tight-rope. 
As  she  fell  she  endeavored  to  grasp  the 
rope,  but  only  bruised  her  arm,  causing 
the  blood  to  flow.  She  struck  the  saw- 
dust heavily,  and  lay  still,  moaning. 

Gentleman  Joe  had  rushed  forward  to 
catch  her  in  his  arms  as  she  fell,  but  he  was 
too  late.  The  child  was  lying  with  one  of 
her  tiny  limbs  doubled  beneath  her,  and 
her  bleeding  arm  above  her  head,  as  if  to 
ward  off  a  blow.  Some  of  the  blood 
from  it  had  fallen  on  her  light  curls.  At 
sight  of  this  Gentleman  Joe  had  uttered 
the  cry,  and  the  audience  had  risen  to 
their  feet  with  exclamations  of  sympathy. 
It  was  an  affecting  sight  to  see  Gentleman 
Joe,  with  a  sudden  rush  of  tears  wash- 
ing the  paint  from  his  cheeks,  kneel  by 
Mouse's  side,  calling  to  her.  But  he  was 
all  at  once  thrust  aside,  and  the  Lefthand- 
er caught  the  child  in  his  arms. 

"AYhat's  the  matter,  Mignon  ?"  he  ex- 
claimed. "  Are  you  hurt  ?  Your  arm 
is  broken.  You  fell !" 

"Yes,  I  fell,  poppa.  My  shoes  were 
not  chalked,"  faltered  Mouse,  trying  to 
smile. 

"Your  arm  is  broken!  It  was  his 
fault— I'll  kill  him  !" 

The  tone  of  these  words  frightened  the 
audience,  who  distinctly  heard  them.  The 
Lefthander's  voice  and  face  were,  in  fact, 
ominous.  His  black  brows  had  made 


the  straight  lino.  Another  person  prob- 
ably  heard  him,  and  saw  the  eyebrows, 
through  tin1  opening  of  the  tent — Mana- 
ger Brownson,  who  \\a^  ohsrrved  to  retire 
hastily  to  his  private  apartment,  away 
from  the  general  confusion. 

The  Lefthander  raised  Mouse  in  his 
arms  growling  as  he  did  so  like  one  of 
the  wild  animals.  JIc  was  evidently,  in- 
deed, a  very  dangerous  animal  at  the  mo- 
ment, and  it  was  probably  just  as  well 
that  Mr.  Brownson  had  business  which 
occupied  him  elsewhere.  Mouse  was 
quite  pale,  and  her  white  skirt  was 
stained  with  the  blood  flowing  from 
the  wound  upon  her  arm.  The  Left- 
hander had  clasped  her  close  to  his 
breast,  as  a  mother  holds  a  baby,  and 
was  talking  to  her.  He  then  rose,  with 
Mouse  in  his  arms,  and  went  out  of  the 
tent,  muttering,  "  If  he  gets  in  my  way 
I'll  kill  him !" 

The  audience  did  not  hear  these  words, 
but  they  looked  after  the  big  athlete  car- 
rying the  tiny  being  in  his  arms,  and 
could  see  the  yearning  expression  of  his 
face  as  he  leaned  over  the  child  and  re- 
peatedly kissed  her.  A  murmur  rose  at 
this  sight — it  was  the  'touch  of  nature 
which  makes  the  whole  world  kin.'  Miss 
Juliet  Armstrong  quietly  passed  a  small 
white  handkerchief  over  her  eyes,  and 
then  restored  it  to  her  outside  pocket, 
where  it  was  convenient  to  pick-pockets. 

"  He  must  love  her  very  much,"  she 
said,  half  aloud. 

"  Yes,"  said  Mr.  Lascelles,  "  or  pretends 
to.  There  is  never  any  certainty  with 
these  people  that  what  they  do  is  not  a 
part  of  the  performance." 


XV. 

THE   DRESSING-ROOM. 

IF  it  was  a  part  of  the  performance  the 
Lefthander  performed  his  part  to  the  life, 
and  continued  to  do  so  when  out  of  sight 
of  the  audience.  Gentleman  Joe  had 
hastened  after  him  with  a  piteous  ex- 
pression. The  fact  that  no  one  was  left 
in  the  ring  seemed  a  subject  of  profound 


40 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


indifference  to  the  poor  clown.  Manager 
Brownson  might  rage  if  he  chose.  There 
was  Mouse  to  think  of. 

The  circus  men,  standing  by  their 
horses,  ready  to  go  on,  flocked  about 
the  Lefthander  inquiring  what  had  hap- 
pened. The  rough  fellows  in  their  glit- 
tering costumes  were  not  the  sort  of  per- 
sons to  look  for  womanish  sympathy 
from,  one  would  have  supposed;  but 
there  was  the  sympathy,  and  it  was  plain- 
ly strong  and  real. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  Mouse,  Left- 
hander?" 

"Poor  girl!" 

"  Broke  her  arm  !" 

These  evidences  of  feeling  came  from 
the  crowd,  but  the  Lefthander  did  not 
stop.  He  only  said,  as  he  passed, "  If  he 
gets  in  my  way  I'll  finish  him  !" 

He  went  on,  carrying  Mouse  close  to 
his  breast,  to  a  small  compartment  on  the 
left,  which  was  divided  from  the  main  tent 
by  a  breadth  of  canvas.  This  he  pushed 
aside  and  went  in.  In  the  room  was  a 
mattress,  covered  with  an  old  counter- 
pane, a  small  pine  table,  two  chairs,  and 
a  cracked  looking-glass  hanging  by  a 
string  tied  through  two  holes  in  the 
canvas.  On  one  of  the  chairs  was  a  pile 
of  female  clothing,  evidently  discarded 
recently  by  its  owner  or  owners  for  the 
scantier  costume  of  the  ring.  The  place 
was  evidently  a  dressing-room  for  the  fe- 
male performers,  and  if  there  had  been 
anv  doubt  of  this  the  presence  of  Clare 
dc  Lune  and  the  Zephyr  would  have  es- 
tablished the  fact.  The  Zephyr  was  en- 
gaged at  the  moment  in  tying  the  rib- 
bon of  her  slipper,  and  Clare  de  Lune 
was  standing  in  front  <»f  the  cracked 
looking-glass  rouging  her  cheeks  with 
one  hand,  while  the  other  hand  held  a 
powder-puff  with  which  she  had  just  been 
powdering  her  shoulders.  Both  were  in 
full  ring  costume,  and  their  appearance 
was  airy  and  sylph-like. 

The  Lefthander  entered  without  cere- 
mony. As  the  Zephyr  went  on  with  her 
occupation,  and  Clare  de  Lune  at  first  did 
not  turn  her  head,  it  was  obvious  that  the 
intrusion  was  not  at  all  resented  —  the 


>ne  of 


« 

n. 

"' 

I  think  it's  sprain- 


: 


new-comer  was  probably  only  "one 
the  family."  As  Clare  de  Lune  finish- 
ed rouging  her  cheeks,  however,  at  the 
moment,  and  had  secured  the  smile  which 
she  had  been  practising  for  some  mo- 
ments in  front  of  her  mirror,  she  turned 
her  head  with  mild  curiosity,  and  looked 
at  the  intruders.  Then  she  suddenly 
cried, 

"  What  has  happened  ?" 

"Well,  I'll  tell  you  what  has  happen- 
ed," said  the  Lefthander,  in  his  bass  voice ; 
"  Mouse  was  made  to  go  on,  before  her 
shoes  were  chalked,  by  that  beast  Brown- 
son,  and  she's  broke  her  arm,  I  think; 
she  slipped  and  fell." 

He  laid  Mouse  on  the  old  matt 
and  passed  his  large  hand  over  her  arm. 

"  Only  bruised,"  he  said.    "  Where 
you  hurt,  little  one  ?" 

"It's  only  my  foot, 
ed,  poppa,"  said  Mouse,  in  rather  a  faint 
voice ;  "  but  I  don't  think  it's  much,  and 
it's  not  worth  making  a  fuss  about — i 
only  hurts  a  little." 

Mouse  tried  to  say  this  in  a  matter-of- 
fact  tone,  but  she  uttered  a  slight  moan, 
which  indicated  very  plainly  that  she 
in  pain. 

The  sound  seemed  to  act  upon  the 
let-girls  like  magic.  Clare  dc  Lune  for- 
got her  rouge  and  the  Zephyr  her  slipper, 
and  ran  to  Mouse,  throwing  their  arms 
around  her  and  crying.  One  laid  her 
head  easily  on  an  old  pillow  and  drew 
the  tattered  counterpane  over  her.  The 
other  ran  for  a  stone  pitcher  with  a  bro- 
ken spout,  and  began  to  bathe  the  sprain- 
ed ankle  in  cold  water.  Mouse  look 
up,  smiling  —  the  Lefthander's  arm  w 
around  her  neck.  The  group,  with  the 
circus  girls  on  their  knees  in  the  sawdust 
and  covering  the  child  with  caresses,  mi 
quite  a  picture. 

They  were  not  wrong,  perhaps,  tin 
worthy  ballet-girls,  in  supposing  that  ca- 
and  petting  were  good  for  people 
in  Mouse's  condition.  Kisses  soothe,  and 
tones  of  love  and  sympathy  heal  the 
wounds  of  the  body  as  well  as  the  mind. 
They  arc  wholesome.  So  Mouse  smiled 
as  she  received  the  caresses  of  these  youm 


;! 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


41 


Amazons  of  the  ring,  whom  their  hard  life 
had  not  hardened. 

"There,  girls,  that  will  do!1'  said  the 
Lefthander;  "let  the  young  one  be  quirt 
now  and  rest  a  little." 

lie  looked  at  them  from  under  his  shag- 
gy eyebrows  and  intittered,  4'  (lood  girls!" 

A  boy  appeared  at  the  opening  of  the 
dressing-room  as  he  was  speaking,  and 
called  out,  "  Lefthander!'' 

"  Well  T  he  growled. 

"  It's  your  turn,  Lefthander.  The  bare- 
backers  arc  off." 

"Go  to  the  devil!"  said  the  Left- 
hander. 

The  boy's  face  rilled  with  delight,  and 
he  chuckled. 

M  Must  I  tell  old  Brownson  that?" 

" Yes,  tell  him!  I'll  probably  send 
him  there  before  the  night's  over." 

The  boy  disappeared,  apparently  over- 
whelmed with  delight  at  these  words.  He 
was  a  call-boy,  of  a  humorous  turn,  and 
probably  did  not  like  "old  Brownson." 
As  he  let  the  flap  fall,  the  faces  of  Gen- 
tleman Joe  and  Harry  were  seen  watch- 
ing and  waiting  anxiously  to  hear  if  Mouse 
was  really  hurt.  There  was  no  time  to 
tell  them  at  the  moment.  They  and 
Clare  de  Lune  and  the  Zephyr  were  suc- 
cessively "  called."  The  two  girls,  obey- 
ing the  inexorable  summons,  went  out  of 
the  dressing-room;  and  the  Lefthander 
was  left  alone  with  Mouse. 

She  was  lying  quite  easily,  and  did  not 
seem  to  be  suffering.  Her  paleness  had 
disappeared,  and  the  delicate  lips  were 
smiling.  She  had  closed  her  eyes,  ap- 
parently to  shield  them  from  the  light  of 
a  cluster  of  lamps  high  up  upon  the  large 
pole  supporting  the  tent;  and  the  Left- 
hander, half  stretched  upon  the  old  mat- 
tress beside  her,  looked  at  her  quietly.  It 
was  a  great  contrast,  the  huge  athlete 
with  the  ponderous  chest,  and  limbs  rug- 
ged with  muscle,  leaning  on  his  elbow 
near  the  child,  who  seemed,  as  he  had 
said,  light  enough  to  be  blown  away  by 
the  first  wind.  While  he  was  looking  at 
her  with  a  tenderness  which  made  the 
rough  features  wonderfully  soft,  Mouse 
opened  her  eyes. 


"Well,  old  lady,"  said  the  lefthander, 
quietly,  "  how  is  the  foot?" 

"  It's  easy,"  said  Mouse,  "and  it  ivallv 
don't,  amount  to  much,  I  do  assure  you, 
poppa/' 

"  How  about  the  arm  .'" 

"  Well,  it's  the  least,  bit  bruised;  I 
wonder  it  bled  so,  and  it  doesn't  hurt 
now.  Here's  a  rumpus,"  added  Mouse, 
"all  about  a  small  body  that  could  be 
put  in  a  thimble." 

"  You  may  be  a  small  body  in  the  eyes 
of  other  people,  but  you  are  a  big  body  in 
mine,  Mignon,"  the  Lefthander  said.  "  I'd 
rather  see  the  whole  Unrivalled  Combina- 
tion sunk  to  the  depths  than  have  your 
little  finger  hurt." 

"The  Combination  sunk?"  Mouse  re- 
joined; "that  would  be  a  bad  thing  to 
happen ;  for  you  know,  then,  Clare  de 
Lune  and  the  Zephyr  would  be  sunk  too." 

"  Well,  that  would  be  bad,"  the  Left- 
hander acknowledged. 

"And  there's  Gentleman  Joe  and  Har- 
ry. They  oughtn't  to  be  sunk  instead  of 
playing  away  yonder — just  listen  to  that 
music  and  the  applause.  I  think  Long 
Tom  must  be  turning  his  back  somerset." 

Long  Tom  was  Mr.  Donald  Melville, 
chief  of  the  bare-back  riders,  and  a  friend 
of  Mouse. 

"No,  it  wouldn't  do  to  sink  Gentle- 
man Joe  and  Harry,"  she  said,  shaking 
her  head.  "  I  don't  think  I  could  get 
along  without  them  ;  and  then  you  know 
we  couldn't  go  off  and  make  up  that 
troupe  I  Ayas  telling  you  about." 

"The  travelling  company?  So  it's  all 
arranged  ?" 

"  Of  course  it's  all  arranged.  I  am 
now  considering  about  the  monkey,"  said 
Mouse ;  "  he  is  to  have  a  red  jacket 
trimmed  with  gold  braid,  and  a  blue  vel- 
vet cap.  I  will  train  him  to  play  the 
tambourine  and  carry  round  the  hat." 

"And  you'll  look  after  the  flowers  and 
the  sunshine  ?" 

"  In  my  moments  of  leisure,  when  I've 
nothing  else  to  do." 

Mouse  spoke  with  a  matter-of-fact  air, 
but  her  eyes  sparkled  at  the  thought  of 
the  flowers  and  the  sunshine.  The  Left- 


42 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


Lander  evidently  saw  the  expression  and 
said, 

k'  Well,  I  think  I've  about  made  up  my 
mind,  Mignon;  and  we'll  go  off  and  get 
up  the  company/1 

Mouse  started  with  joy. 

"Are  you  really  in  earnest,  poppa?" 
she  exclaimed. 

"I  really  am." 

"And  Gentleman  Joe!  and  Harry! 
Do  you  think  they  will  go  with  us?" 

"I  think  I  can  talk  both  into  it  —  I 
don't  know ;  I  think  I  can.  Harry's 
rea<ly,  and  old  brute  Brownson's  getting 
<  Gentleman  Joe  in  a  bad  humor  with  him." 

Mouse  forgot  her  foot,  and  clasped  her 
small  hands  with  delight. 

"  It's  too  good  to  be  true !  it  is  not  go- 
ing to  happen  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  There's 
no  such  luck  to  be  expected,  and  I'll  nev- 
er see  that  monkey — no,  never !" 

"  You  would  like  to  ?" 

"Like  to?  I'd  take  him  on  my  back 
and  carry  him  all  day,  only  to  have  him ! 
Oh,  poppa  !  we'd  be  so  happy.  Think  ! 
— there'd  be  no  more  tight-rope  dancing, 
and  falling  down  and  getting  hurt — we'd 
act  in  the  daytime — and  the  sun  would 
shine  so,  and  the  grass  and  flowers — just 
think  of  it  all!  You'd  be  happier  than 
you  ever  were,  and  I'd  take  such  good 
care  of  you !" 

"  I  really  believe  I  would  be  happier, 
Mignon  —  and  I'd  keep  away  from  the 
har-room<.  And  there's  another  thing; 
if  I  stay  hen-  I'll  put  an  end  to  old 
Brown-' MI  some  day." 

"Oh,  n«>!  that  would  be  sinful.  You 
kn<»\v  what  I  read  you  in  my  Bible,  pop- 

"  Fe§,  I  know,  and  that's  \\liy  1  want 
to  get  away  bcfon:  I  do  him  any  damage. 
I'm  not  a  bad  sort  of  fellow  if  people  let 
me  alone;  but  I'm  rather  hard  to  manage 
when  I'm  trifled  with.  I  begin  to  sec 
ivd!  Some  day  or  other  old  Drown-on 
will  provoke  me;  then  I'll  give  him  one 
of  my  left-handers  that  will  do  for  him. 
What  noise  is  that 

"Somebody's  quarrelling,"  Mou- 
Intening. 

A  loud  hubbub  was  heard  without,  and 


the  sound  of  voices  in  angry  discussion. 
Curious  to  know  what  occasioned  it,  the 
Lefthander  got  up,  raised  the  canvas  Hap, 
and  telling  Mouse  that  he  would  return 
in  a  moment,  went  out  of  the  dressing- 
room. 


XVI. 

OF  THE  HEAVY  BLOW  INFLICTED  ON 
UNRIVALLED  COMBINATION  AND 
MANAGER. 

THE  accident  to  the  child  had  be 
forgotten  by  the  audience  a  few  minutes 
after  its  occurrence.  The  general  enjoy- 
ment interrupted  for  a  moment  recovered 
its  full  force.  This  was  natural ;  human 
life  and  the  world  of  the  stage,  or  the 
ring,  are  much  the  same — has  not  Shak- 
speare  told  us  that  ?  You  may  have  your 
private  tragedy,  and  people  pity  you,  per- 
haps ;  but  then  it  is  your  tragedy,  not 
theirs.  It  makes  a  ripple  on  the  surface, 
but  ripples  soon  disappear.  The  comedy 
goes  on,  for  the  audience  have  come  to 
be  amused,  not  to  shed  tears.  Your  he 
is  broken?  Your  life  is  desolate? — t 
is  very  sad.  Your  foot  has  slipped  o 
the  slippery  arena  of  this  weary  world  ? — 
poor  fellow  !  But  feet  will  slip, and  hearts 
will  break.  There  really  is  no  time 
sympathize  with  you.  There  is  Mr.  M 
ryman  making  one  die  with  laught 
Ha!  ha! — ha!  ha  !— did  you  notice  that 
grimace?  What  a  funny  fellow  he  is — 
without  a  care  in  the  world!  And  here 
come  the  bare-back  riders  in  their  brilliant 
dresses!  The  lights  dazzle;  the  nm-i  • 
roars;  the  great  arena  is  full  of  noise 
and  splendor  and  rejoicing,  as  your  life- 
blood  is  oozing  out  yonder  behind  the 
curtain. 

So  the  gay  performances  went  on  ;  and 
the  jugglers  tossed  their  plates  and  halls; 
Clare  de  Lune  and  Zephyr  pirouetted  on 
their  velvet  -addles;  and  Mr.  Donald  Mel- 
ville, d/i'is  "  Long  Tom,"  executed  splen- 
did back  somerset s;  ami  Harry  and  his 
eomrades  hounded  lightly  over  a  dozen 
hor.-es  abreast;  and  Gentleman  Joe,  with 
a  heavy  heart,  grimaced  in  a  manner  indi- 


:: 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


43 


eating  the  very  height  of  human  enjoy- 
ment. 

lie  was  very  heavy-hearted,  indeed,  this 
poor  old  Gentleman  Joe,  in  his  striped 
costume,  exploding  with  jests,  and  dou- 
bling himself  up  in  the  ecstasies  of  his 
mirth,  lie  was  thinking  of  Mouse  the 
whole  time.  The  child  was  very  dear  to 
him,  as  lie  had  no  one  of  his  own — only 
Harry,  who  was  grown  now  —  and  he 
could  not  bear  the  thought  that  she  was 
lying  there  in  pain,  a  few  feet  from  him. 
This  thought  made  Gentleman  Joe  ex- 
tremely unhappy  ;  and  as  he  had  an  op- 
portunity at  length  of  temporarily  absent- 
ing himself  from  the  ring,  he  went  out, 
and  directed  his  steps  toward  the  corner 
where  the  colloquy  had  taken  place  be- 
tween himself  and  his  friends  just  before 
the  child's  accident.  Perhaps  the  place 
recalled  her,  and  lie  thought  that  he 
would  go  there  for  a  moment  before  pro- 
ceeding to  inquire  into  her  condition. 
He  was  wiping  his  face  on  his  arm,  and 
unconsciously  removing  some  of  the 
paint,  when  a  voice  behind  him  said, 

"  What  is  the  matter,  father?  Some- 
thing troubles  you." 

It  was  the  voice  of  Harry.  He  had 
just  finished  his  leaping  performance,  and 
seeing  the  figure  of  his  father  disappear 
in  the  direction  of  this  corner,  had  follow- 
ed him. 

"  What  makes  you  look  so  sorrowful  ?" 
he  added. 

"  Mouse,"  said  Gentleman  Joe,  sighing 
deeply. 

"  She  is  not  much  hurt,"  replied  the 
young  man.  "Clare  de  Lune  said  so. 
Only  a  sprain  and  a  slight  bruise." 

Gentleman  Joe  shook  his  head  de- 
spondently, and  put  his  hand  to  his  fore- 
head— a  common  gesture  with  him — as 
if  something  was  wrong  there. 

"  I  can't  bear  it,  I  can't  bear  it !"  he 
said,  in  a  piteous  tone.  "  She  ought  not 
to  be  here.  It  is  not  suitable  for  a  little 
slip  of  a  thing  like  Mouse  to  live  in  such 
a  rough  world  as  this — I  mean,  to  be  a 
circus  girl.  She  is  a  bud  with  the  dew 
on  it.  The  dust  and  heat  will  dry  up 
the  dew.  I  can't  bear  it !" 


It  was  really  a  piteous  sound  that  is- 
sued from  tlu*  lips  of  Gentleman  .lo.-. 
The  sigh  which  lie  uttered  seemed  to  be 
siilH.'ient  to  "shatter  all  his  hulk."  The 
young  man  looked  troubled  at  his  fa- 
ther's trouble,  and  seemed  to  be  thinking 
of  Mouse  too,  for  lie  said, 

kk  You  are  right,  father.  I  wish  she 
was  oil'  somewhere,  living  easily  and  in 
quiet,  as  a  child  should,  as  much  a-  y«>u 
do.  It  is  strange  how  much  Mouse 
makes  everybody  love  her.  I  don't 
know  how  I  would  get  along  unless  I 
heard  her  laugh  and  tease  me — and  it  is 
all  pretence ;  she  is  devoted  to  all  of  us." 

"She  has  a  warm  heart  —  too  warm 
for  this  hard  business,"  sighed  Gentleman 
Joe. 

His  eyes  grew  dreamy  as  he  said  this, 
and  he  added,  in  a  thoughtful  tone, 

"A  hard  business,  a  very  hard  business. 
I  have  been  at  it  now  for — let  me  see — 
for — well,  for  nearly  three  years,  and  I 
know  all  about  it." 

"  For  three  years,  father !" 

"At  least  that,  my  boy.  Maybe  for 
twenty  or  more.  You  sec  my  memory 
fails  me  a  little,  sometimes.  I  can't  fix 
the  exact  time ;  but  it  has  been  a  very 
long  time  indeed,  and  I  have  seen  a  great 
many  things  as  I  travelled  about." 

Harry  looked  a  little  sorrowful  at  this 
aberration  of  his  father's  memory,  al- 
though he  was  used  to  it. 

"  Some  things  were  very  sad,"  Gentle- 
man Joe  said,  with  sudden  tears  in  his 
eyes.  "There  was  little  Charley,  Long 
Tom's  nephew.  They  were  training  the 
child.  You  know  they  hold  them  by  a 
cord  through  a  ring  as  the  horse  gallops. 
One  day  the  cord  broke,  and  little  Charley 
fell  under  the  horse's  feet  and  was  tram- 
pled to  death,  lie  was  bleeding  from  a 
wound  on  his  forehead  made  by  the  hoof 
of  the  horse.  "When  they  took  him  up 
he  was  dead." 

Gentleman  Joe  uttered  a  sob. 

"  That  was  enough  to  make  people  cry 
— poor  little  Charley !  he  was  very  fond 
of  me." 

"  Well,  father,"  said  the  young  man, 
"I  wouldn't  think  of  these  sorrowful 


44 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


things.  There  is  enough  of  trouble  in 
this  world  without  looking  it  up." 

"That  is  very  true,"  said  Gentleman 
Joe,  resuming  his  equanimity. 

"  There  are  bright  things  and  scenes  as 
well  as  sad  ones.  You  must  think  of  the 
bright  <>nes." 

M  1  do,  Harry,  I  do,"  said  Gentleman 
Joe,  cheerfully.  "I  remember  a  great 
many  of  that  sort,  too.  I  could  make 
you  split  your  sides  laughing  if  I  told 
you  about  some  things  I  have  seen. 
There  was  the  old  farmer  in  Ohio,  who 
waddled  into  the  ring  and  squared  off  to 
fight  me  for  pointing  at  him,  and  asking 
him  if  he  '  wanted  to  be  a  Granger,  and 
with  the  Grangers  stand?'" 

Gentleman  Joe  smiled  with  sudden  de- 
light at  the  recollection. 

"  lie  was  angry,  I  suppose,"  said  Har- 
rv,  humoring  his  father. 

"Angry?  He  was  wild!"  exclaimed 
Gentleman  Joe,  in  immense  enjoyment. 
"He  doubled  up  his  fist  and  struck  at 
me;  but  I  stooped  down  and  ran  between 
his  legs,  and  sent  him  sprawling  in  the 
sawdust — ha,  ha'/' 

The  speaker  shook  from  head  to  foot 
in  ecstasies  of  mirth,  after  which  he  exe- 
cuted a  series  of  grimaces  from  the  force 
of  habit. 

"That  was  amusing  enough,"  he  said, 
at  length,  assuming  an  air  of  dignity,  as 
though  ashamed  of  his  outburst;  "but 
everything  1  have  seen  was  not  so  comic 
as  this.  \Ve  can't  always  laugh." 

"'It  is  better  to  lau^h  than  be  sigh- 
ing'— you  know  what  the  song  says,  fa- 

"  Well,  I'm  not  so  certain  of  that,"  was 
the  thoughtful  reply.  "A  man  who  is 
always  laughing  is  like  an  empty  gourd 
with  pebbles  in  it.  You  grow  tiivd  af- 
ter awhile  of  the  empty  rattle,  and  long 
for  quiet  and  an  opportunity  to  think. 
But  then  thinking  hurts  the  head.  You 
ivnirinber  things,  too,  when  you  think, 
and  that  hurts  tin-  heart." 

lie  looked  at  the  young  man  dreamily. 
It  was  a  sorrowful,  absorbed  look,  and  his 
mind  was  evidently  busy  with  thoughts 
of  other  persons  or  places. 


"  I  often  think  of  Ellen  when  I  look  at 
you,  my  boy,"  he  said. 

"  My  mother  ?"  Harry  said,  in  a  low 
tone. 

"  Yes.  She  is  dead  now — it  has  been 
a  long  time.  I  wish  I  was  dead,  too !" 

"  Don't  talk  so,  father." 

"Why  not?  It  is  true,"  Gentleman 
Joe  said,  with  a  sad  dignity  in  his  face 
and  voice  which  was  wonderfully  in  con- 
trast with  his  clown's  dress.  "Do  you 
think  it  so  very  strange  that  a  man 
should  wish  to  die  when  he  has  lost  his 
wife?" 

"  But  what  would  have  become  of 
me  ?"  said  the  young  man. 

"True;  I  ought  to  think  of  that.  In 
fact,  I  did  think  of  it,"  said  Gentleman 
Joe,  calmly.  "You  were  a  little  one 
then,  and  put  your  arms  around  my  neck 
and  kissed  me,  and  I  saw  what  was  to  be 
done.  My  place  was  to  live  and  take  care 
of  you." 

As  Gentleman  Joe  spoke,  he  looked 
at  Harry  with  such  tenderness  that  the 
young  man's  face  flushed  and  his 
trembled  a  little. 

"  When  did  mother  die,  and  where 
it,  father  ?"  he  said. 

"  Hush  !"  said  Gentleman  Joe  in  a 
voice,  with  his  eyes  swimming  suddenly 
in  tears;  "it  was  a  long  time  ago —  I 
don't  remember  the  place,  but  I  remem- 
ber how  she  looked,"  he  added,  piteously. 

The  young  man  did  not  speak  again 
for  some  moments;  he  was  plainly  en- 
deavoring to  regain  command  of  his  voice. 
At  length  he  said, 

"  Well,  well,  father,  as  it  distresses  you 
so  I  will  not  ask  any  more  quest  ions. 
You  will  tell  me  some  of  these  days,  when 
we  are  quietly  settled  down  somewhere. 
I  wish  that  was  now.  You  ought  to  give 

Up  this  bll>iness.M 

"  I'm  afraid  that  will  never  be,  my  boy," 
Gentleman  Joe  said,  shaking  his  head. 
"  You  can't  teach  an  old  dog  new  tricks." 

"But  it  is  wearing  you  out,  father ! 
And  such  a  life  does  not  suit  your  char- 
acter in  the  least.  You  are  entirely  dif- 
ferent from  these  people — it  may  surprise 
you  to  hear  me  talk  so,  when  I  have 


avc  nev- 


VIRGINIA    HOIIKMIANR 


45 


cr  known  any  other  sort — and  they  are 
good  friendly  fellows  too.  But  they  arc 
diilerent  from  >/on.  You  have  no  idea 
how  1  fed  when  I  see  you  in  this  clownV 
dri-ss,  making  fun  for  negroes  and  com- 
mon people  ! — 1  hate  it  !  And  I  hate  my 
own  trade  of  a  circus -man.  I'd  rather 
live  l»y  digging  ditches  !" 

"  I>ut  what  are  we  to  do — we  are  so 
poor,  Harry  I" 

"  I  will  work  for  you,  father.  It  is  mv 
duty — you  have  worked  for  me.  It  is  a 
very  small  return  for  all  your  love  and 
care  since  I  was  a  child." 

"No,  no  —  the  fathers  must  do  their 
part.  When  they  are  old  and  weak,  the 
children  can  take  care  of  them  then." 

"  You  are  getting  to  be  both,  father, 
and  I  mean  to  take  care  of  you,"  said 
Harry.  "  You  may  think  I  am  a  thought- 
less boy,  and  I  am  thoughtless  cm  nigh, 
but  I  am  not  bad-hearted.  It  is  my  place 
to  watch  over  you,  and  keep  you  from 
wanting  anything.  I  never  had  a  want 
that  you  did  not  supply  when  you  could, 
and  you  have  never  been  anything  to  me 
but  the  very  best  father  that  a  boy  ever 
had.  Xow  I  am  a  man,  and  I  intend  to 
try  and  make  you  some  return  for  all 
you've  done  for  me.  Only  say  the  word, 
and  we'll  leave  the  company  and  settle 
down  quietly,  and  I'll  do  the  working  for 
both  of  us — you  couldn't  please  me  bet- 
ter." 

"  Leave  the  company,  Harry  ?  Leave 
the  Lefthander,  and  Long  Tom,  and  Clare 
de  Lime — she's  a  good  girl — and  Mouse, 
worst  of  all  ?  I  don't  think  I  could  do  that, 
my  boy.  Xo,  I  never  could  leave  Mouse." 

"  We  might  talk  the  Lefthander  into 
the  idea  of  going  off  with  us.  I  don't 
think  he's  very  much  pleased  of  late  with 
the  business  and  Manager  Brownson.  He 
was  drinking  at  the  tavern  this  morning, 
and  a  man  trod  on  his  foot,  which  made 
him  angry,  and  Brownson  spoke  roughly 
to  him.  lie  wouldn't  have  liked  the 
Lefthander's  look  if  he  had  seen  it  as  he 
turned  his  back." 

"  Well,  he  is  getting  more  ill-tempered 
— I  mean  Mr.  Brownson.  Still  he  is  not 
discourteous  to  you  or  me,  Harry,  and — " 


"  What  the  devil  are  you  doing  idling 
when  you  ought  to  be  on?"  cried  a  voice 
near  them.  They  looked  up — there  \\as 
the  gentleman  of  whom  they  had  just 
been  speaking. 

Manager  Hrownson  was  not  in  a  good- 
humor,  that  was  very  plain  from  \\\^  face. 
Indeed,  several  circumstances  had  com- 
biiii-d  to  mar  the  worthy  man's  serenity 
on  this  day,  and  during  the  performance. 
In  the  morning  the  Lefthander,  while  en- 
gaged in  the  discreditable  procecdim;'  <>f 
drinking  at  the  village  tavern,  had  nearly 
gotten  into  an  altercation  with  a  citizen, 
which  was  prejudicial  to  receipts,  and 
had  cost  him,  Manager  Brownson,  an  ad- 
mission ticket,  by  way  of  salve  to  the 
citizen's  feelings.  Then,  since  nightfall 
other  things  had  irritated  the  good  man. 
The  performers  had  not  been  as  prompt 
as  he  expected.  Things  had  gone  wrong 
generally.  The  Lefthander  had  in  mere 
wantonness,  and  evidently  from  personal 
malice,  strangled  the  African  leopard,  one 
of  the  finest  animals  in  the  menagerie, 
which  was  a  dead  loss  of  more  than  two 
thousand  dollars.  And  even  that  was 
not  all :  this  big  bully  had  dared  to  tell 
him,  Manager  Brownson,  to  his  very  face, 
that  what  he  said  was  a  lief  and  when 
he  was  "  called  "  to  his  performance,  sub- 
sequently, had  sent  him  word  that  he, 
Manager  Brownson,  might  go  to  the  devil! 
Was  this  the  manner  in  which  the  man- 
ager and  proprietor  of  the  Unrivalled 
Combination  of  Attractions  was  to  be 
treated  by  one  of  his  subordinates  ?  What 
he  said  was  a  lie! !  and  he  might  go  to 
the  devil!  !! 

Instead  of  going  to  the  devil,  Manager 
Brownson  went  to  his  private  retreat  in 
the  rear  and  solaced  himself  with  brandy. 
He  had  solaced  himself  repeatedly  before, 
and  his  face  became  redder,  and  his  tem- 
per more  irascible.  He  was  ready  to 
confront  all  the  Lefthanders  on  earth  by 
this  time;  and,  going  toward  the  ring, 
his  heavy  cane  striking  the  ground  a<  he 
walked,  he  chanced  to  see  Gentleman  Joe 
talking  with  Harry.  As  the  phrase  "go 
to  the  devil"  was  rankling  in  his  mind, 
he  naturally  uttered  the  words  "  what  the 


46 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


devil,"  etc.,  as  above.  He  then  grasped 
his  large  walking-cane  about  a  foot  from 
the  head  in  a  threatening  manner,  and 
scowling  at  Gentleman  Joe,  who  was 
nearest  to  him,  said, 

"  What  do  you  mean,  I  say,  by  this 
fooling  here  ?  Look  yonder !  Not  a 
soul  in  the  ring — and  hear  the  audience 
growling  and  howling  like  a  whole  men- 
agerie !" 

Gentleman  Joe's  frame  stiffened,  and 
his  face  assumed  an  expression  of  wound- 
ed pride  which  was  very  striking. 

"I  was  only  conversing  with  my  son 
for  a  few  moments,  sir,"  he  said,  formal- 
ly. "  I  am  not  aware  that  I  am  your 
servant,  to  be  addressed  in  a  manner  so 
very  unpleasant." 

But  the  dignity  in  the  tone  of  the 
speaker  was  quite  thrown  away  on  Man- 
ager Brownson.  If  he  noticed  it,  he  paid 
no  attention  to  it. 

"Don't  try  to  be  palming  off  your  ex- 
cuses on  me  !"  he  exclaimed,  wrathful ly. 
"You  and  that  fellow,  the  Lefthander, 
and  his  daughter,  cut  down  your  business 
one-half.  It's  robbing  me  ! — no  better 
than  taking  my  purse  !" 

Gentleman  Joe  colored  with  indigna- 
tion, and  said, 

"  It  is  not  true  that  I  neglect  my  part, 
sir." 

"  What  do  you  mean  ?"  cried  Mr. 
i,  raising  his  heavy  stick. 

"I  mean  I  am  an  honest  man,  and  not 
a  worm  for  you  to  tread  upon,  if  I  am 
a  clown  in  your  company,"1  said  Gentle- 
man Joe. 

"  Give  me  another  word  and — go  on,  I 
•r — " 

"You  have  been  drinking,  sir.  I  will 
not  go  on.  I  will  leave  your  company!" 
exclaimed  Gentleman  Joe,  in  a  firm  voice. 

These,  words  excitrd  Manager  I'.rown- 
son  in  the  high-  .  and  uttering  a 

volley  of  oaths,  he  raised  his  stick  and 
struck  at  Gentleman  Joe.  As  he  did  so, 
the  young  man,  who  had  listened  to  this 
colloquy  with  a  Hushed  fare,  sprung 
straight  at  him. 

There  was  no  personal  collision,  how- 
ever, between  Harry  and  Manager  Brown- 


ed.     After 


son  :  a  third  person  interposed. 
leaving  Mouse  in  the  dressing-room,  the 
Lefthander  had  looked  in  the  direction  of 
the  sounds  of  angry  discussion  which  had 
attracted  his  attention,  and  a  glance  was 
sufficient  to  explain  everything.  Mana- 
ger Brownson  had  raised  his  heavy  walk- 
ing-stick above  the  head  of  old  Gentle- 
man Joe,  uttering  a  volley  of  oaths  as  he 
did  so.  This  made  the  situation  of  af- 
fairs quite  plain,  and  the  Lefthander  act- 
ed promptly.  It  took  him  only  a  mo- 
ment to  reach  the  spot.  Just  as  the 
manager's  cane  descended,  something  re- 
sembling a  falling  sledge-hammer  passed 
through  the  air,  and  Manager  Brownson 
staggered,  reeled  backward,  and  fell  at 
full  length  on  the  sawdust.  The  Left- 
hander had  delivered  what  he  called  his 
"left-hander,"  and  the  manager,  struck 
between  the  eyes,  had  gone  down  under 
it  like  an  ox  under  the  axe  of  the  butcher. 
A  crowd  of  the  performers,  leaving 
their  horses  standing,  hastened  to  the 
spot.  The  manager  was  lying  on  the 


sawdust, 


his    face    bleeding,   ai 


growling  out  curses. 

"  I  have  intended  to  let  him  have  tlu 
for  some  time,"  said  the  Lefthander, 
will  be  good  for  him." 

As  Manager  Brownson  rose  to  his  feet 
almost  without  assistance,  it  was  obvious 
that  his  injuries  were  not  serious, 
directed  a  single  look  at  the  athlete,  in 
which  tlie  venom  of  all  the  serpents  in 
his  menagerie  was  concentrated,  and  then 
retired  without  speaking,  probably  for  the 
purpose  of  washing  the  blood  from  his 
face. 

The  Lefthander  had  stood  by  quietly, 
without  saying  anything  more.  He  now 
took  Gentleman  Joe  by  the  arm,  and, 
pushing  through  the  crowd,  went  to  a 
retired  corner,  and  talked  with  him  for 
a  few  moments.  They  then  separated, 
and  the  Lefthander  returned  to  the  group 
of  circus -men,  who  had  resumed  their 
places  by  the  horses  and  shook  hands 
with  them  one  after  another.  It  was 
evident  that  he  was  taking  leave  of 
them,  and  that  the  men  regretted  the 
fact  —  their  faces  showed  that.  The 


VIK(;  I  MA    P.01I  KM  I A  NS. 


Lefthander  then  went  back  to  the  dress- 
ing-room, whore  he  found  Mouse  lying 
quietly  on  her  old  matti 

"  I  low's  the  foot  now.  Minium  ?"  ho  said. 

kk  Well,  it's  nothing  to  give  a  body  any 
anxiety,"  said  Mouse.  "  A  sprain's  not 
much.  Was  there  anybody  quarrelling, 
poppa  .'" 

"  A  small  diflieultv — not  mueh.  I  say, 
Mignon,  would  you  like  to  go  away  with 
ino  t. .-night?" 

"  Go  away— to-night !" 

"  We  are  going  away — it  will  be  bet- 
ter. I'm  getting  in  «i  bad  humor  with 
old  Brownson,  you  see.  I  might  do  him 
some  harm,  and  it  is  best  to  avoid  that. 
Do  you  think  you  would  like  to  go  and 
see  if  we  can't  try  to  find  the  flowers  and 
the  sunshine?" 

"Oh  yes,  poppa!  Yes,  yes!  I  can 
easily  walk." 

"  You'll  not  have  to  walk.  What's  a 
big  fellow  like  me  worth  if  he  can't  carry 
a  young  one  like  you  ?  It's  like  carrying 
a  leaf,  or  a  puff  of  smoke  blown  on  the 
wind." 

"  But  Gentleman  Joe,  and  Harry !" 
Mouse  exclaimed,  suddenly. 

"  That  will  be  all  right — I've  seen  about 
it." 

"  Will  they  go,  poppa?" 

"  Yes,  they  will  go.  Now,  if  Clare  de 
Lunc  was  here — you'll  have  to  dress — " 

"  Here  I  am,  Lefthander !"  cried  a  voice 
at  the  opening.  "  What's  this  badness 
of  yours? — quarrelling  with  that  dear  old 
darling,  Brownson !  You  ought  to  be 
ashamed  of  yourself.  I  heard  about  it !" 

Clare  de  Lime  showed  a  fine  set  of 
teeth  as  she  said  this,  and  laughed  in  a 
way  which  indicated  enjoyment  of  the 
manner  in  which  the  old  darling  had 
been  treated.  Behind  her  appeared  the 
Zephyr,  still  flushed  with  her  exertions  in 
the  ring;  and  the  Lefthander  proceeded 
to  inform  them  that  he  and  Mouse  were 
"going  to  take  French  leave."  At  this 
announcement  exclamations  and  wailing 
ensued.  The  prospect  of  seeing  Mouse 
and  the  Lefthander  leave  them  evidently 
upset  these  excitable  beings;  and  one 
could  see  from  the  tears  in  the  eyes  of 


Clare   de    Luno,  and   her  heaving  bosom, 
that  sin-  was  ready  to  hurst  out  cr\  in^. 
"Can't  bo  helped, "the  Lefthander  said, 

concisely.     "  Engagement  wound  up,  and 

receipts  signed  and  delivered.  We  are 
going  on  our  travels — get  M«m>e  ready. 
girls.  I'll  soon  got  these  circus  things 
off  and  come  back  for  her." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  she  shall  be  ready  ! — 
You're  not  really  going  > — She  can't  walk  ! 
— The  idea  of  going!" 

This  combined  wail  arose  from  Clare 
dc  Lunc  and  the  Zephyr  at  the  same  mo- 
ment. The  Lefthander  paid  no  attention 
to  it,  and  went  out  of  the  dressing-room. 
Thereupon  the  girls  promptly  set  about 
getting  Mouse  ready  for  her  expedition. 
This  was  not  difficult.  The  child  was  ac- 
customed to  sleep  indifferently  at  public- 
houses  or  under  the  circus  tent  with  the 
young  women;  and  a  small  travelling- 
satchel  containing  her  few  clothes  was  ly- 
ing op  the  sawdust  at  the  head  of  the  old 
mattress.  From  this  Clare  de  Lune  now 
drew  out  a  neat  child's  dress,  a  pair  of 
black  morocco  boots,  a  small  felt  hat,  and 
other  articles  of  Mouse's  wardrobe.  She 
and  Zephyr  then  removed  the  child's 
dancing-dress  and  replaced  it  with  that 
taken  from  the  travelling -satchel,  tying 
her  light  curls  behind  with  a  ribbon,  and 
the  strings  of  the  hat  under  her  chin. 
They  then  retreated  a  few  steps  and  look- 
ed at  her  critically  as  she  leaned  upon  the 
old  mattress.  Mouse  presented  a  very 
attractive  appearance  thus  dressed,  and 
resembled  a  child  just  ready  to  set  out 
after  breakfast  for  school — a  resemblance 
which  was  assisted  by  the  satchel  lying 
beside  her.  After  contemplating  her 
with  admiring  eyes  for  a  short  while, 
Clare  de  Lune  and  the  Zephyr  rushed  at 
her,  burst  into  sobs,  and  covered  her  face 
with  kisses.  In  the  midst  of  this  the 
Lefthander  reappeared,  lie  had  discard- 
ed his  stockinet  and  velvet,  and  wore  a 
plain  brown  citizen's  suit,  in  which  it  was 
difficult  to  recognize  him.  The  athlete 
had  vanished,  and  the  citizen  had  taken 
his  place. 

"  Come  on,  Mignon,"  he  said,  "  we  are 
burning  daylight.  It's  time  to  go." 


48 


VIRGINIA   BOHEMIANS. 


Thereupon  new  wails  arose,  and  new 
sobs  and  k ; 

"Don't  take  Mouse  away,  Lefthander !" 

"How  can  we  do  without  you  and 
Mouse?" 

••  \<  cds  must,  girls,"  the  Lefthander 
said ;  "  who  knows  ?  we  might  meet  again 
some  of  these  days.  But  nobody  ever 
knows  about  that.  You  are  good  girls — " 

lit-  went  up  to  them  and  put  his  arms 
around  them  and  kissed  them. 

"Good-bye!"  he  said.  "You  don't 
wear  long  frocks,  and  they're  cut  low  in 
the  neck,  but  there's  something  under 
them  that  fine  ladies  don't  always  have — 
a  heart." 

He  took  the  satchel,  and  then  lifted 
Mouse  in  his  arms.  Clare  de  Lune  came 
and  kissed  her,  crying,  and  then  fixed  her 
eyes  on  the  Lefthander. 

" I  thought  you  would  not  leave  me" 
she  said  in  a  low  voice,  sobbing. 

"It  is  hardest  of  all,"  said  the, Left- 
hander, in  the  same  tone ;  "  but  remem- 
ber what  I  said.  You  are  a  good  girl 
now — be  a  good  girl  still.  Then  some 
day — that  will  arrange  itself." 

II'-  touched  the  cheek  of  Clare  de 
Lune  with  his  lips  and  went  out  of  the 
tout,  leaving  the  girl  covering  her  face 
and  sobbing. 

AY  hen  Manager  Brownson  woke  on  the 
Morning  his  head  felt  exceedingly 

in mfortable,  but  far  greater  was  his 

mental  di'piv>si<»n  at  certain  intelligence 
vJii<-h  was  promptly  conveyed  to  him. 
The  Lefthander,  Gentleman  Joe,  Harry, 

and  Moii>e  ha«l  all  vanished;  at  one  fell 
swoop  he  had  been  deprived  of  the  pride 
and  glory  «>f  the  1'nrivalled  Combination 
— its  athlete,  its  Mr.  Mcrryman,  its  tight- 
rope attraction,  and  one  of  its  best  acro- 
bats. Manager  I'.rou  n-<>n  groaned;  n<>t 
even  his  morning  bitters  iv\i\cd  his 
spirit*. 

By   >unri>».'   the   tents  were  struck,  and 
nrivalled   Combination   of  Attrac- 
tions   disappeared    from     Piedmont    for 
parS  unknown. 


XVII. 


GENERAL     LASCELLES. 

THE  library  at  AVye  was  a  pleasant 
spectacle  on  the  evening  of  the  circus. 
The  family  had  assembled  there  after  tea, 
and  spent  the  time  in  pleasant  talk,  as 
people  were  accustomed  to  do  in  the 
cheerful  little  Piedmont  neighborhood. 
For  it  was  a  very  friendly  and  pleasant 
little  neighborhood.  Once  the  families 
had  lived  in  affluence,  and  the  houses  had 
overflowed  with  company,  and  carriages 
stood  at  the  doors  at  any  and  all  hours 
of  the  day,  apparently  waiting  for  some- 
body to  come  and  ride  in  them.  There 
was  a  plenty  of  hospitality  still,  but  few 
servants  were  seen  now ;  and  the  wolf 
was  at  the  door  much  oftener  than  the 
coach.  Still  this  did  not  seem  to  matter 
much.  The  good  people  in  the  old  coun- 
try homes  accepted  their  reduced  fortunes 
cheerfully,  and  kept  up  their  kindly  asso- 
ciation with  each  other  as  before.  Cer- 
tain persons,  it  is  true,  called  them  aris- 
tocratic and  "  exclusive ;"  which  means, 
"You  consider  yourself  better  than  I 
am."  This  was  not  just,  however.  They 
simply  preferred  the  society  of  their  own 
people  and  their  blood  relations;  for 
which  reason  they  were  sneered  at  and 
styled  ridiculous.  They  had  not  been 
sneered  at  once,  when  they  rolled  in  their 
coaches  and  had  plenty  of  means.  If 
they  had  ever  been  an  aristocracy,  they 
were  a  very  poor  aristocracy  now,  and  it 
is  well  known  that  little  can  be  looked 
for  from  that  sort  of  people.  A  rich 
aristocracy  ought,  of  course,  to  be  saluted 
respectfully — certain  advantages  may  be 
derived  from  conciliating  it.  AYith  a 

O 

poor  aristocracy  it  is  very  different.  It 
is  an  offensive  anomaly,  and  has  no  right 
t<>  exist — certainly  not  to  be  holding  its 
head  up,  as  if  it  were  somebody.  Y.MI 
can  laugh  at  it,  and  despise  it  even — no 
inconvenience  will  result — since  nothing 
is  to  ]„•  expected  from  nothing. 

The  worthy  people  saw  the  difference, 

but  did  not  care  much.      They  had  al- 

-aluted  every  one,  and  saluted  still 

with  friendly  courtesy,  whether  anybody 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


49 


returned  their  salutes  or  not.  The 
"freedmen"  always  returned  them,  with 
more  respect  even  than  when  they  were 
slaves.  This  was  singular  luit  true,  and 

was  even  commented  upon.  The  old 
regime  was  gone,  but  the  old  ways  lin- 
gered. The  suave  old  gentlemen  and  the 
serene  old  ladies,  with  their  sweet  smiles, 
weiv  the  same  people.  The  very  boys 
and  girls  were  the  same  boys  and  girls, 
and  one  could  see  that  they  respected 
good  morals  and  good  manners.  Youth 
raised  them  above  fortune,  and  they  were 
as  bright  as  the  spring  sunshine.  You 
cannot  change  nature,  and  the  bright  days 
return  in  defiance  of  everything.  The 
•rrass  and  tlowers  will  bud  and  bloom  in 
spite  of  the  ruts  made  by  cannon-wheels. 
And  here  in  the  little  neighborhood  nat- 
ure had  come  to  heal  the  old  wounds. 
Her  face  smiled  and  her  great  heart 
throbbed  under  the  desolation;  and  old 
and  young  smiled  too,  making  the  best 
of  things. 

In  the  small  neighborhood,  here  and 
there,  however,  were  a  few  families  who 
were  comparatively  very  well  off. 
Among  these  was  the  Lascelles  fam- 
ily, living  at  Wye,  at  the  head  of 
which  was  General  Lascelles  —  a  title 
of  courtesy  merely,  derived  from  his 
former  rank  in  the  militia.  Wye  was 
a  very  good  estate,  indeed,  and  covered 
more  than  three  thousand  acres.  In  old 
times  several  hundreds  of  Africans,  nom- 
inally slaves,  had  enjoyed  the  proceeds  of 
the  estate.  These  were  now  free,  and 
enjoyed  the  franchise,  which  they  were 
quite  willing  to  dispose  of  for  a  glass  of 
whiskey;  but  the  ancient  establishment 
went  on  in  something  resembling  the  old 
style.  The  chief  difference  between  the 
old  and  new  regime  was  that  the  freed- 
men were  paid  —  a  fact  which  did  not 
seem,  however,  to  impress  very  deeply 
the  gray -haired  "uncles,"  who  shook 
their  heads,  and  made  no  scruple  of  in- 
timating that,  since  no  home  was  to  be 
provided  for  them  in  their  old  age,  free- 
dom was  a  snare  and  a  delusion  ;  but 
they  were  free,  and  must  make  the  best 
of  it.  The  main  thing  was  to  be  allowed 


to  remain  at  Wye,  and  look  to  the  family 
for  things.  So  they  remained,  and  look- 
ed to  the  family. 

General  Lascelles  made  a  good  deal  of 
money.  It  is  true,  he  spent  a  great  deal. 
He  was  an  excellent  manager,  and  what 
went  in  at  the  spigot  nearly  made  up  for 
what  gushed  out  at  the  bung.  He  sowed 
annually  nearly  a  thousand  acres  in  wheat, 
and  raised  vast  crops  of  corn  on  his  low 
grounds,  chiefly  for  his  stock.  He  was 
extremely  fond  of  stock-raising.  Mis 
cattle,  sheep,  and  hogs  were  his  pride, 
and  no  one  was  more  successful  with 
them.  He  gave  large  prices  for  fine 
cattle,  but  said  that  it  paid.  He  had  a 
small  bull,  much  less  imposing  than  Paul 
Potter's,  for  which  he  had  given  fifteen 
thousand  dollars,  and  congratulated  him- 
self upon  purchasing  him  so  cheap.  He 
had  the  purest  breeds  of  Southdowns, 
Cotswolds,  and  Leicesters,  and  carefully 
crossed  them,  experimenting  how  to  pro- 
duce the  finest  mutton  and  the  heaviest 
wool.  His  hogs  were  as  carefully  man- 
aged. Crossing  the  big  white  Chester 
and  the  small  black  Essex  he  produced  a 
species  like  the  Berkshire,  which  he  said 
was  the  best  hog  of  all.  For  his  calves, 
lambs,  and  pigs  he  received  very  large 
sums,  and  stock-breeders  came  from  all 
parts  of  the  country  to  purchase  them. 
All  this  pleased  General  Lascelles  very 
much,  apart  from  any  question  of  profit ; 
but  his  supreme  passion  was  for  horses. 
He  could  begin  and  tell  you  one  after 
another  the  points  of  a  good  horse,  from 
his  pasterns  to  his  ears,  and  looked  at  a 
thorough-bred  as  a  bridegroom  looks  at 
his  bride.  His  young  stallion  Roland,  he 
said,  was  the  very  finest  colt  ever  sired 
by  Revenue,  and  everybody  knew  that 
Revenue  had  not  a  drop  of  blood  in  his 
whole  body  that  was  not  thorough-bred. 
The  general's  colts  were  a  little  fortune 
to  him,  and  were  in  training  in  all  parts 
of  the  country.  He  had  nothing  to  do 
with  the  turf  now,  and  rarely  attended 
even  his  dear  Maryland  races  at  Balti- 
more ;  but  it  would  never  do  not  to  train 
such  horse-flesh.  He  would  not  sell  his 
best  colts  to  anybody.  He  called  them 


50 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


his  "beauties,"  and  kept  them  for  the 
pleasure  of  looking  at  them.  It  was  his 
habit,  generally  after  breakfast,  to  hobble 
out,  leaning  on  his  old  body-servant — for 
the  rheumatic  gout  had  attacked  him  of 
late  years  —  and  have  the  beauties  in 
glossy  coats  led  up  and  down  for  his  in- 
spection. This  was  his  pastime,  and  near- 
ly all  the  personal  part  which  he  took  in 
matters  at  Wye;  for  it  was  a  somewhat 
singular  fact  that  General  Lascelles  spent 
the  whole  day  nearly  in  writing  letters  or 
reading  the  newspapers,  and  had  very  lit- 
tle to  do  with  farming  operations  person- 
ally. It  is  true  that  he  controlled  every- 
thing to  the  minutest  details ;  but  he  did 
so  through  an  old  and  reliable  manager, 
who  had  been  with  him  for  thirty  years 
or  more.  He  saw  this  personage  every 
morning  and  gave  his  directions,  and 
the  instrument  performed  what  the  brain 
planned  and  ordered. 

This  slight  sketch  of  Wye,  and  the 
ways  of  things  there,  may  leave  the  im- 
pression that  everything  was  prosperous 
and  the  family  wealthy.  "  Wealthy  "  is 
a  very  general  term.  Persons  who  re- 
ceive and  spend  a  great  deal  of  money 
are  not  always  wealthy.  Large  sums 
flowed  into  the  general's  exchequer  from 
his  agricultural  operations  and  his  stock 
breeding;  but  he  employed  a  great  deal 
of  labor,  and  his  outlay  was  in  every  way 
very  large.  To  raise  grain  is  expensive. 
The  cost  cuts  down  the  profit  immensely, 
especially  when  u  railway  is  mingled  with 
the  equation.  There  was  such  a  railway 
with  which  General  Lascelles  and  his 
neighbors  wen-  mixed  up  —  the  B.  M. 
It.  It.  (  Uiir  Monopoly  Railroad). 

The  Big  Monopoly  Railroad  was  con- 
ducted on  strictly  business  principles. 
Every  one  was  to  look  out  for  himself. 
You  were  informed  that  you  were  not 
obliged  to  send  your  grain  OV«t  the  IJig 
Monopoly  Railroad.  You  were  free  to 
transport  it  to  market  in  wagons  if  you 
preferred.  It  was  true  you  <-ouM  not  do 
so  without  incurring  a  ruinous  expense, 
and  that  you  were  absolutely  compelled 
to  do  business  with  the  Big  Monopoly 
Railroad.  They  were  ready  —  but  the 


"  way  freight"  must  pay  for  the  "through 
freight."  This  was  one  of  the  great  prin- 
ciples of  moral  philosophy.  There  was 
competition  in  the  matter  of  the  through 
freight — there  was  none  as  to  the  way 
freight.  It  was  therefore  plain,  from  the 
nature  of  things,  that  the  Virginia  grain- 
grower  must  be  charged  an  amount  which 
would  be  a  fair  division  of  his  profits 
with  the  railroad :  half  to  himself  for 
raising  the  grain  —  half  to  the  Big  Mo- 
nopoly for  transporting  it  to  market. 
That  was  just.  They  were  bringing  grain 
thousands  of  miles  from  the  West  at  a 
dead  loss ;  for  there  was  active  competi- 
tion with  other  lines  of  railway.  There 
was  none  in  this  case.  It  was  way  freight, 
and  they  transported  it  at  least  one  hun- 
dred miles.  If  the  profits  on  grain  at 
Wye  were  ten  thousand  dollars,  was  not 
the  Big  Monopoly  Railroad  fairly  entitled 
to  one-half  that  sum  ? 

This  was  one  thing  which  prevented 
General  Lascelles  from  becoming  rich. 
There  were  two  other  obstacles.  He 
spent  a  great  deal  of  money,  and  owed  a 
great  deal.  His  mode  of  living  all  his 
life  had  been  profuse ;  and  then  he  was 
generous  to  everybody.  He  had  endorsed 
for  many  friends  in  difficulties,  and  had 
been  called  upon  to  pay.  This  he  had 
not  been  able  to  do  in  many  instances, 
and  the  debts  remained  unpaid:  people 
had  not  pressed  him.  He  was  very  pop- 
ular and  very  well  off,  which  quiets  cred- 
itors. So  the  general  went  on  paying 
heavy  interest,  and  making  a  great  deal 
of  money,  and  spending  it  generously ; 
living,  in  a  word,  like  a  fine  old  Virginia 
gentleman,  who  is  going  to  die  some  day 
with  his  affairs  probably  "tied  up  into  a 
double  bow-knot."  It  might  not  prove 
so  l)ad  in  the  case  x>f  the  worthy  general ; 
but  there  was  the  fact.  Wye  was  a  fine 
e>tate,  and  the  proceeds  from  the  lane 
were  large — but  the  general  owed  a  great 
•  leal  of  money. 

He  was  the  head  of  everything  at  Wye, 
although  he  rarely  left  his  library — the 
faet  has  been  mentioned.  To  say  this  is 
to  say  that  he  was  a  man  of  ability.  This 
was  conceded  by  everybody,  and,  indeed, 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


51 


he  had  filled  a  prominent  place  in  public 
affairs.  He  had  always  l>eeu  influential 
from  his  early  manhood,  and  had  prompt- 
ly gone  into  politics  —  served  a  term  in 
the  State  Legislature  —  represented  his 
district  in  Congress  —  and  filled  out  the 
unexpired  term  of  a  member  of  the  I-Vd- 
eral  cabinet  who  had  died  suddenly.  1  It- 
was  then  offered  the  post  of  minister 
plenipotentiary  to  one  of  the  first  courts 
of  Europe,  hut  as  the  Civil  War  was  plain- 
ly imminent  at  the  time,  he  declined  it. 
lie  returned  to  Virginia,  and  the  war  fol- 
lowed ;  hut  General  Lascelles  took  no 
part  in  it.  This  was  due,  people  said,  to 
the  scant  respect  with  which  he  was  treat- 
ed by  some  of  the  Confederate  officials, 
from  which  a  bitter  quarrel  had  resulted. 
Whether  this  was  true  or  not,  the  general 
returned  to  Wye  in  great  dudgeon.  He 
simply  announced,  in  a  curt  manner,  that 
there  seemed  to  be  no  place  for  a  worn- 
out  old  dog  like  himself  in  the  Confeder- 
ate councils :  he  would  go  into  the  army 
if  he  was  able  to  do  so ;  as  he  was  unable, 
he  would  stay  at  home  —  they  could  do 
without  him,  he  supposed.  So  he  stayed 
at  home,  and  sent  every  surplus  barrel  of 
flour  and  pound  of  meat  to  the  army ; 
and  fed  the  soldiers  by  hundreds  at  his 
table ;  and  scowled  haughtily  at  the  blue- 
coats  when  they  intruded  on  him.  "When 
peace  came  there  he  was  still,  with  a  great 
torn -down  establishment,  and  scarcely  a 
fence  upon  the  estate  ;  but  he  and  his  old 
manager  had  set  to  work  and  labored 
with  combined  energy  —  and  here  was 
Wye,  at  last,  looking  a  little  like  its  old 
self. 

Personally  the  general  was  a  rather 
imposing  but  a  most  agreeable  old  gen- 
tleman. He  was  tall  and  gray -haired, 
with  a  face  ruddy  from  good  living ;  for 
his  appetite  was  still  excellent,  and  he 
drank  good  wine  at  his  dinner,  as  he  had 
done  throughout  his  life.  He  dressed  in 
the  old  fashion,  in  a  broadcloth  coat  and 
black  satin  waistcoat,  with  a  lofty  stock 
and  standing  shirt -collar.  He  wore  his 
watch  in  his  pantaloons  pocket,  and 
from  the  chain  hung  a  bunch  of  seals, 
one  of  them  a  blood-stone,  on  which  was 


the  Lascelles  coat  of  arms.  When  he 
walked  the  seals  jingled:  this  jingle 
was  a  part  of  General  Lasedlrs.  A-  t.. 
his  walk,  it  was  the.  walk  of  the  Senator, 
but  he  was  not  in  the  least,  stiff — very 
far  from  it.  lie  was  not  only  a  most 
courteous  person  to  everybody,  high  and 
low,  but  his  manner  was  easy-going,  and 
put  people  in  a  good-humor.  lie  was 
perfectly  unpretending,  and  the  model  of 
a  plain  old  planter.  He  jested,  had  his 
humorous  views  of  things,  and  the  hum- 
blest man  felt  at  his  ease  with  him.  It 
is  true  that  he  probably  had  a  very  good 
opinion  of  himself,  for  we  all  have  our 
weaknesses — except  ourselves.  But  this 
trait  in  the  general  did  not  offend  peo- 
ple. He  was  entirely  simple  and  friend- 
ly, and  shook  hands  heartily  with  the 
humblest  person,  as  he  would  probably 
have  done  with  the  Emperor  of  Germany 
or  Russia  if  he  had  been  presented  to 
him.  He  was  a  communicant  of  the 
Episcopal  Church,  and  helped  a  great 
many  poor  people.  Critical  persons 
laughed  at  him,  but  they  were  obliged 
to  respect  him.  Here  was  a  genuine 
man,  whatever  might  be  his  foibles. 

Such  wras  Wye  and  the  head  of  the 
establishment.  It  was  quite  an  old 
house,  built  by  the  general's  grandfather 
or  great-grandfather,  the  Sieur  Lascelles, 
of  Touraine,  in  France — a  Huguenot  ref- 
ugee. The  old  Sieur  Lascelles  had  es- 
caped to  England,  after  privately  dispos* 
ing  of  his  landed  estate,  and  married  an 
English  lady,  with  whom  he  had  after- 
ward come  to  live  in  Virginia.  Here  he 
had  erected  this  old  house,  giving  it  the 
name  of  "  Wye,"  his  dear  wife's  English 
home,  and  the  ancient  mansion  had  duly 
descended  to  the  present  representative 
of  the  family.  The  antique  character  of 
everything  about  it  has  been  noticed. 
The  oaks  in  the  grounds,  through  whose 
vistas  you  had  a  fine  view  of  a  rich  coun- 
try, with  rolling  fields  and  belts  of  woods, 
with  the  mountain  in  the  background, 
had  evidently  been  there  a  long  time,  for 
they  were  gradually  dying  at  the  top. 
The  old  post  supporting  the  sun-dial  in 
the  circle  was  leaning  from  age.  The 


52 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


old  steps  leading  up  to  the  portico  were 
nearly  worn  away.  The  ponderous  fold- 
ing-doors and  iron  knob  took  you  back 
to  old  times.  In  fact,  many  generations 
of  the  Lascelles  family  had  lived  here, 
and  the  place  had  about  it  an  air  of 
births,  christenings,  and  marriages  —  it 
was  too  cheerful  to  make  you  think  of 
funerals.  In  the  time  of  the  present 
head  of  the  house  there  had  been  a  large 
family  there.  The  mansion  had  over- 
flowed with  children,  but  they  had  died, 
or  married  and  gone  elsewhere.  Besides 
General  Lascelles  there  were  now  only 
three  persons  in  the  family — the  aged 
Mrs.  Lascelles,  her  trim  little  niece,  Anna 
<'i'ay,  whom  she  had  adopted  some  years 
before,  on  the  death  of  the  young  lady's 
parents,  and  Mr.  Douglas  Lascelles,  only 
surviving  son,  who  was  approaching  mid- 
dle age,  and  had  spent  several  years  of 
his  life  in  Europe. 

Such  was  this  agreeable  old  Virginia 
country-house  of  Wye  at  the  time  of  the 
present  narrative.  It  was  not  precisely 
like  its  old  self  under  the  past  regime, 
but  as  near  an  approach  to  it,  perhaps,  as 
the  last  half  of  the  inexorable  nineteenth 
century  will  tolerate.  It  tolerates  a  great 
many  things  that  it  would  be  better  for 
it  to  put  its  heel  upon,  but  the  ancient 
regime  is  not  one  of  them. 


XVIII. 

ELLIS    ORANTIIAM. 

IT  is  time  to  come  to  the  pleasant 
group  in  the  library  at  \Vye.  This  was 
the  habitual  resort  of  the  family,  for 
<Jeneral  Lascelles  was  not  at  all  solitary 
in  his  tastes;  indeed,  just  the  contrary. 
He  conducted  a  large  political  e<'i K  -pond- 
ence  with  his  former  associates  and  read 
endless  newspapers,  but  this  did  n<>t  in- 
terfere with  anybody's  coming  and  go- 
ing. Some  persons  arc  unable  to  write 
if  they  are  interrupted.  The  general 
seemed  rather  to  like  it.  1 1  is  children 
had  invaded  his  sanctum  in  old  days 
when  there  were  children  at  Wye — he 
would  have  liked  to  have  had  them  there 


still  —  and  he  had  not  repulsed  them  in 
the  least.  Instead  of  frowning  he  had 
smiled,  and  laid  down  his  pen.  Then 
the  little  one  would  be  on  his  knee, 
and  would  be  encouraged  to  express  his 
wishes.  If  these  were  a  piece  of  candy, 
the  general  unlocked  a  drawer  in  which 
he  always  kept  a  supply  of  that  child-lux- 
ury, and  produced  some.  If  it  was  a  toy 
horse  which  required  a  string  around  his 
foreleg  to  pull  him  by,  the  general  got 
up  and  looked  for  a  string.  If  the 
young  one  was  suffering  from  ennui, 
which  afflicts  children  in  common  with 
adults,  he  relieved  it  by  telling  a  story, 
after  which  the  visitor  retired,  and  the 
ex-statesman  resumed  his  correspondence 
and  discussion  of  public  affairs. 

The  children  had  gone  away  now,  and 
there  were  no  more  little  pattering  feet 
to  produce  a  pleasant  interruption ;  but 
General  Lascelles  made  the  best  of  it. 
He  would  have  everybody  understand 
that  the  large  drawing-room,  or  "up- 
stairs," was  not  the  proper  resort  of  the 
family.  The  library  was  the  point  of 
union.  When  Mrs.  Lascelles  was  not  ei 
gaged  with  household  affairs,  here  was 
cool  refuge  in  summer  and  a  cosy  fireside 
in  winter  to  bring  her  knitting  and  sit 
by.  If  Mr.  Douglas  wished  to  read  and 
smoke  his  cigar,  why  not  come  and  do  so 
in  the  library  ?  Or  Anna  Gray  might 
seat  herself  on  the  opposite  side  of  his 
writing-table,  and  flow  on  interminably 
in  epistles  to  her  female  friends.  It  was 
not  a  bad  thing  to  have  her  there.  He 
fcraa  very  fond  of  her,  and  if  he  wished 
to  ejaculate  denunciations  connected  with 
contemporary  politics, it  was  rather  pleas- 
ant to  have  a  bright  face  rise  up  and  a 
pair  of  smiling  lips  say,  "  Did  you  speak 
to  me,  uncle?" 

It  was  a  very  good  place  to  hold  family 
reunions  in,  this  snug  library  at  Wye.  It 
was  surrounded  by  oaken  bookcases  full 
of  volumes,  ranging  from  dignified  his- 
tories and  collections  of  public  docu- 
ments to  the  last  books  of  travel,  literary 
BMiyftj  biography)  and  fiction  —  for  the 
general  was  an  omnivorous  reader.  The 
walls  were  ] tainted  in  oak,  and  in  the 


YIKGIXIA   JiOHKMlANS. 


53 


centre  of  the  room  was  a  heavy  writing- 
table  of  carved  walnut  with  a  green  cloth 
top,  on  which  were  pens  and  ink,  a  port- 
folio, a  bronze  lamp  at  night,  and  the  last 
magazines  and  paper-bound  novels.  As 

t«>  newspapers, they  pervaded  the  room — 
chielly  the  window-sills.  The  fireplace 
was  large,  and  hail  in  it  a  pair  of  old 
bra>s  andirons.  On  the  wooden  mantel- 
piece were  vases,  In-hind,  which  letters 
were  thrust.  "Where  the  walls  were  not 
hidden  by  bookcases  there  hung  some 
old  portraits,  delineating  people  of  the 
Lascellcs  family  in  the  times  of  Louis 
XIII.  and  XIV.,  in  huge  flowing  wigs 
and  lace  doublets,  or  steel  hauberks. 
Everywhere  were  seen  easy-chairs,  chief- 
ly of  the  "  Sleepy  Hollow "  pattern. 
There  was  a  neutral- tinted  carpet  on 
the  floor,  which  remained  there  through- 
out the  year.  Everything  in  this  room 
seemed  to  ask  you  not  to  look  at  it,  only 
to  be  content  with  it. 

On  this  evening  the  bronze  lamp  was 
lit,  and  diffused  a  mild  light  through  its 
ground- glass  shade.  The  general  was 
leaning  back  in  a  large  Sleepy  Hollow 
chair,  reading  his  newspaper  just  brought 
from  the  post-office;  Mrs.  Lascelles  was 
seated  near  him,  knitting  the  stocking 
which  never  seemed  to  be  finished,  and 
Anna  Gray  was  on  the  opposite  side,  talk- 
ing with  a.  young  man  of  about  twenty- 
five,  who  had  made  his  appearance  at 
AVye  just  before  tea.  This  was  Ellis 
Grantham,  only  son  of  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Grantham,  the  aged  rector  of  the  Pied- 
mont parish.  He  was  the  picture  of 
health,  with  black  hair,  ruddy  cheeks, 
very  fine  black  eyes,  and  manners  full  of 
cheerfulness  and  modesty.  There  was  a 
great  charm  in  this  unaffected  candor  and 
sweetness.  It  was  very  plainly  unaffect- 
ed, and  expressed  his  real  character.  In 
fact,  Ellis  Grantham  was  an  exceptional 
person  ;  he  belonged  to  that  very  small 
class  of  human  beings  who  seem  to  be 
born  good.  With  most  persons  it  is  a 
terrible  effort  to  remain  pure  in  the  midst 
of  temptation,  especially  when  youth  heats 
the  blood,  and  the  mouth  is  not  broken 
to  the  bit ;  but  Ellis  Grantham  really 


seemed  to  have  kept  himself  pure  with- 
out any  dillieulty.  This  was  strange  but 
true.  It  was  natural  to  him  to  be  good. 
He  bad  avoided  what  was  vicious,  and 
loved  what  was  pure,  from  native  im- 
pulse. He  had  no  vices  whatever.  A 
cynical  person  said  of  him  one  day  that 
there  must  be  some  hidden  depravity 
about  him,  as  every  young  man  had  a 
certain  amount  of  badness  in  him,  and 
that  if  it  did  not  come  out  in  one  way  it 
would  in  another.  If  Ellis  Grantham 
had  any,  it  had  never  come  out  up  to 
this  time.  He  had  been  a  good  child 
and  a  good  boy,  and  was  a  good  young 
man.  The  result  was  that  good  people 
loved  and  respected  him,  and  that  certain 
other  persons,  finding  that  they  themselves 
inspired  a  different  sentiment,  sneered  at 
him.  He  was  simply  "  goody,"  "  milk- 
and-water,"  a  hypocrite,  and  had,  under 
all  his  mock-modesty,  a  very  high  opin- 
ion of  himself,  they  said.  One  day  lie 
heard  of  these  criticisms;  one  has  always 
kind  friends  to  communicate  agreeable 
things  that  are  said  of  us.  He  listened 
with  the  greatest  surprise,  but  said  noth- 
ing. He  had  a  very  poor  opinion  of 
himself  ;  rated  his  intellect,  indeed,  much 
below  its  just  value,  and  had  never  acted 
a  part  in  all  his  life ;  what  his  critics 
meant  was,  therefore,  a  mystery  to  him. 
He  never  concealed  anything,  but  said 
plainly  what  he  thought  of  vice — name- 
ly, that  it  was  hateful.  As  to  vicious 
people,  he  did  not  hate  them  in  the  least ; 
very  far  from  it.  He  was  going  to  enter 
the  Christian  ministry  soon,  and  to  begin 
by  hating  people  would  have  appeared  to 
him  a  very  bad  beginning  indeed.  He- 
was,  in  fact,  full  of  sweetness  and  charity, 
and  had  in  his  heart  a  broad  love  for  hu- 
manity in  all  its  phases,  which  disregarded 
dogmas  and  the  worldly  view  of  things. 
This  country  youth  had  discovered  one 
great  truth  —  that  the  human  heart  is 
never  wholly  debased,  and  that  it  is  never 
too  late  to  try  to  touch  it  and  make  it 
throb.  The  same  heart,  he  said  to  him- 
self, beats  under  the  squalid  rags  of  the 
outcast  and  the  criminal  as  under  the 
neat  black  coat  and  spotless  linen  of  the 


clergyman  and  the  "highly  respectable" 
person.  The  difference  was  in  circum- 
stances. Some  men  took  the  right  path 
and  others  the  wrong  one.  His  business 
was  with  the  latter.  It  was  quite  as  im- 
portant to  move  the  heart  under  the  rags 
as  that  under  the  broadcloth.  If  it  was 
the  heart  of  a  thief  or  a  prostitute,  all 
the  better.  One  who  had  walked  about 
preaching  in  Judea,  eighteen  hundred 
years  before,  had  preached  from  prefer- 
ence to  that  sort  of  people. 

As  Ellis  Grantham  was  going  to  return 
to  the  Theological  Seminary  on  the  next 
morning  to  finish  liis  last  session  there, 
he  had  come  to  tell  his  friends  at  Wye 
good-bye.  They  had  had  a  very  long 
and  familiar  talk  with  each  other  —  he 
and  Mrs.  Lascelles  and  Anna  Gray — which 
ry  natural,  as  he  was  a  great  favor- 
ite with  both ;  and  his  mother,  now  dead, 
had  been  an  intimate  friend  of  Mrs.  Las- 
celles. 

"  Well,  my  dear,"  the  lady  said,  with 
the  sweet  smile  which  made  her  thin  face 
so  attractive,  "I  am  very  sorry  you  are 
going  to  leave  us ;  but  young  men  must 
prepare  for  their  duties  in  this  world,  and 
ought  not  to  forget  that  youth  is  the 
spring-time,  when  the  seed  must  be  sown. 
If  we  do  not  sow  we  cannot  expect  to 
reap.  The  fall  and  winter  will  come  after 
awhile,  and  seed-time  and  harvest  will  be 
pa-t,  and  then  we  will  want  bread.  Old 
age  is  like  night,  and  when  that  comes, 
you  know,  none  of  us  can  work.  I  am 
very  glad,  indeed,  my  dear,  to  see  that  you 
are  resolved  to  do  your  duty." 

"  I  mean  to  try,  Aunt  Maria,"1  he  said, 
cheerfully,  u-ing  the  title  by  which  he 
had  always  addressed  her  from  his  child- 
hood, although  there  was  no  relationship. 

'•  I  am  certain  you  mean  to,  Kllis,  and 
I  am  just  as  certain  that  you  will  be  a 
i  and  useful  man." 

"  Well,  you  could  not  wish  me  better 
than  that,  Aunt  Maria;  1  know  you  wish 
me  well  in  everything." 

"Indeed  I  do;  it  would  In-  strange  if 
I  did  not,"  said  Mrs.  Las.-dlrs  knitting 
tranquilly.  "Your  mother  wa*  a  very 
dear  friend  of  mine — she  wa-  a  >aint  on 


earth — and  I  have  always  loved  you  as  a 
son.  We  shall  miss  you  very  much,  and 
I  don't  know  what  Anna  will  do  without 
you.  You  are  very  much  indeed  like 
your  mother:  she  was  very  dear  to  me." 
The  expression  of  the  speaker  and  her 
tone  of  voice  went  to  his  heart ;  a  slight 
color  carne  to  his  cheek.  Indeed,  the 
voice  of  this  lady  moved  people,  touching 
a  secret  chord.  Here  was  a  thoroughly 
good  woman,  whose  presence  was  a  bless- 
ing to  all  around  her;  one  with  a  wise. 
mind  intent  on  common  duties,  and  a 
warm  heart  thinking  of  the  happiness  of 
others.  An  exquisite  swreetness  and  res- 
ignation made  the  thin  face  beautiful. 
She  had  suffered  a  great  deal  in  her  time. 
Many  of  her  children  had  died;  others 
had  married  and  left  her;  but  she  had 
not  become  at  all  gloomy.  She  was  evi- 
dently looking  beyond.  As  to  controver- 
sial points  connected  with  the  relations 
between  man  and  the  Beyond  in  ques- 
tion, they  seemed  not  to  interest  her  in 
the  least.  If  you  cited  Dr.  Calvin  or 
Bishop  Butler,  she  said,  "  My  dear, 
knew  no  more  than  you  and  I  do — th 
Bible  is  enough."  If  you  discussed  tl 
Mosaic  account  of  creation  from  a  g\ 
logical  point  of  view,  or  propounded  Mr. 
Darwin's  or  Mr.  Spencer's  theory  of  de- 
velopment, Mrs.  Lascelles  smiled  tranquil- 
ly, and  said  that  there  were  a  great  many 
difficult  questions  which  we  could  not  be 
expected  to  understand  —  but  we  could 
understand  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount. 
She  was  always  extremely  cheerful,  and 
smiled  as  she  came  back  from  the  Holy 
<  'ommiinion.  When  you  were  in  trouble 
she  did  not  sigh  and  quote  texts,  as  many 
excellent  people  do.  That  was  a  very 
good  medicine,  but  perhaps  not  the  right 
medicine  at  the  time.  "You  will  find 
after  awhile  that  it  is  all  the  same,  my 
dear,"  she  said,  with  her  placid  smile; 
"there  i^  a  place  where  people  who  are 
separated  from  each  other  see  each  other 
again."  The  thin  finger  moved  slightly, 
pointing  upward  when  she  said  this,  and 
you  knew  what  she  meant.  She  herself 
had  looked  in  that  direction  for  consola- 
tion, and  had  found  it.  She,  therefore 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


advised  you  to  do  so  in  your  turn.  Of 
such  human  beings  it  may  l>e  said  tliat 
they  are  the  salt  that  keeps  a  sorrowful 
world  from  the  decomposition  of  despair. 

"Arc  you  going  in  the  morning,  my 
dear.'"  she  now  said  to  Ellis  (Irantham. 

"Yet,  after  breakfast,  Aunt  Maria; 
there  will  be  time  enough  to  catch  the 
train." 

u  And  when  will  you  be  back?1' 

"Before  Christmas,  1  hope,  for  a  few 
days.  I  have  never  spent  Christmas 
away  from  home,  and  would  not  like  to 
miss  one  with  father." 

"It  would  be  a  very  serious  matter 
with  him,  I  am  sure,  Ellis.  You  are  the 
apple  of  his  eye,  and  he  would  feel  very 
lonely." 

"  I  will  certainly  be  back,  if  possible." 

"  And  some  of  these  days  you  will  re- 
turn not  to  go  away  any  more,  I  hope. 
If  you  could  only  be  your  father's  assist- 
ant, after  you  are  ordained,  I  am  certain 
it  would  please  every  one.  Then  you 
could  think  about  being  married,  and  set- 
tle down  with  us." 

A  slight  color  came  to  the  already  rud- 
dy cheeks  of  the  young  man,  and  he  look- 
ed for  just  half  an  instant  toward  Anna 
Gray,  who,  in  mild  unison  with  the  em- 
ployment of  Mrs.  Lascelles,  was  crocheting 
a  table -mat.  The  young  lady  did  not 
meet  this  glance,  and  Ellis  Grantham 
said, 

"  I  am  too  young  to  think  of  that  just 
yet,  Aunt  Maria,  and  you  know  I  am  not 
competent  to  be  father's  assistant — I  hope 
I  will  be  some  day." 

Further  discussion  of  the  subject  was 
interrupted  by  the  sound  of  horse's  hoofs 
without.  The  rider  was  then  heard  com- 
ing in,  and  Mr.  Lascelles  entered  the  li- 
brary, politely  saluting  its  occupants.  In 
reply  to  a  question  from  his  mother,  he 
1  said  that  he  had  passed  a  very  pleasant 
evening,  and  Miss  Juliet  seemed  pleased 
with  the  circus  performance — they  had, 
however,  come  away  before  it  had  ended. 
Having  made  this  communication,  Mr. 
Lascelles  said  to  Ellis  Grantham, 

"  Mrs.  Armstrong  mentioned  a  visit 
which  you  paid  them  this  afternoon,  and 


I   presume  you   are   well  acquainted  with 
the  family  at  Trianon." 

'  YeS  I  know  them  very  \\vll,"  Ellis 
said. 

"Can  you  tell  me  who  Miss  Bassick 
is?" 

"She  is  a  young  lady  who  lives  with 
Mrs.  Armstrong." 

"  In  what  capacity  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  precisely." 

"  A  relative  ?" 

"I  think  not." 

"Then  she  is  probably  a  house-keeper 
or  lady's  companion,"  said  Mr.  Lascelles. 

Mrs.  Lascelles  here  interposed,  and 
said, 

"  Miss  Bassick  is  a  young  lady  who  as- 
sists Mrs.  Armstrong  in  her  house-keeping, 
and  is  a  confidential  friend  and  compan- 
ion, I  believe.  She  rarely  leaves  home,  I 
have  heard,  and  seldom  comes  to  church. 
You  might  have  seen  her  there." 

Mr.  Lascelles  did  not,  apparently,  con- 
sider it  necessary  to  call  attention  to  the 
fact  that  he  rarely  went  to  church.  He 
said, 

"Well,  I  was  a  little  struck  by  Miss 
Bassick ;  she  is  handsome  enough,  but 
rather  peculiar  in  her  appearance.  AVhen 
we  came  back  from  Piedmont  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong was  probably  up-stairs,  and  Miss 
Bassick  opened  the  door,  when  I  was 
introduced  to  her  by  Miss  Juliet,  with 
a  simple — *  Mr.  Lascelles,  Miss  Bassick.' 
There  certainly  was  nothing  in  Miss  Ju- 
liet's manner  —  not  the  least  nuance,  as 
the  French  say — to  show  that  Miss  Bas- 
sick was  not  her  social  equal  in  every 
particular." 

"Juliet  is  much  too  well-bred  for 
that,"  Mrs.  Lascelles  said.  "  She  is  very 
proud,  and  has  a  great  deal  of  feeling, 
too." 

"  She  is  certainly  very  fine-looking,  and 
Miss  Bassick,  the  companion,  is  decidedly 
handsome,  too.  It  strikes  me  she  is  rather 
hiding  her  light  under  a  bushel.  I  was 
particularly  struck  by  her  eyes,  and  don't 
know  whether  to  call  them  diabolical  or 
angelic,"  said  Mr.  Lascelles,  smiling,  and 
lighting  a  cigar,  after  politely  offering 
one  to  Ellis  Grantham,  who  declined  it. 


56 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"  She  must  be  a  perfect  little  devil !" 
came,  in  a  sort  of  explosion,  from  General 
Lascelles.  Every  head  turned  quickly, 
but  it  was  evident  that  this  exclamation 
had  nothing  whatever  to  do  with  Miss 
Bassick.  The  ex-statesman,  during  the 
conversation  between  Mrs.  Lascelles  and 
Ellis  Grantham,  had  been  absorbed  in  his 
newspaper.  In  this  occupation  the  en- 
trance of  Mr.  Douglas  Lascelles  had  only 
interrupted  him  for  a  moment.  He  had 
been  reading  the  Washington  letter  in  his 
New  York  journal,  from  which  it  appear- 
ed that  those  who  differed  with  the  po- 
litical opinions  of  the  writer  were  all 
rogues,  and  wretches  of  the  deepest  dye; 
and,  as  the  general  was  personally  ac- 
quainted with  some  of  the  individuals 
thus  characterized,  he  acknowledged  that 
there  was  a  grain  of  truth  in  the  corre- 
spondent's strictures.  He  had  then  pass- 
ed to  another  paragraph,  in  which  the 
letter-writer  drew  the  likeness  of  a  certain 
female  lobbyist  then  haunting  Washing- 
ton. The  picture  was  bit  in  with  acid, 
and  was  not  unlike  the  portrait  of  Mr. 
Thackeray's  Becky  Sharpe,  except  as  to 
personal  appearance  —  the  fair  lobbyist 
being  much  handsomer.  Her  "tricks 
and  her  manners"  were  drawn  with 
much  gusto,  and  an  amusing  story  was 
told  of  her  attempt  to  black-mail  a  prom- 
inent statesman.  Hence  the  appreciative 
exclamation  of  General  Lascelles — "  She 
must  be  a  perfect  little  devil !" 

Mr.  Lascelles  smiled  with  an  air  of  en- 
joyment. 

"  Do  you  mean  Miss  Bassick,  sir  ?"  he 
said. 

"Miss  Bassick?"  the  general  said,  rais- 
ing his  head  with  a  bewildered  air. 

"  You  say  she  is  a  little  devil." 

"  Miss  Hassick  a  devil  ?  I  really  do  not 
know  in  the  least  what  you  mean.  Who 
is  Miss  Bassick  '.'' 

Mr.  Lascelles  explained,  and  much 
amusement  was  caused  by  the  general's 
apropos  or  mo/opropoi  interjection. 

"  I  am  sure  I  did  not  mean  to  express 
any  opinion  of  Mrs.  Armstrong's  friend, 
Miss  Bassick,"  he  Mid, laughing  with  tin- 
rest.  "I  was  reading  an  account  of  a 


person  in  Washington — but,  really,  I  will 
not  introduce  the  ladies  to  such  bad  com- 
pany. And  I  owe  you  an  apology,  my 
dear  Ellis,  for  my  absorption  in  this  pes- 
tiferous journal.  I  fear  reading  the  news- 
papers is  becoming  a  mania  with  me.  Are 
you  really  going  to-morrow,  my  boy  ?  I 
am  sincerely  sorry  to  hear  that  you  are 
going  to  leave  us." 

And  then  the  conversation  proceeded 
until  Ellis  Grantham  rose  and  bade  the 
family  good-bye.  Mrs.  Lascelles  drew 
him  to  her  and  kissed  him  affectionately, 
and  then  he  shook  hands  with  the  two 
gentlemen,  and  lastly  with  Anna  Gray. 
As  he  went  out  of  the  room  she  rose 
quietly — a  movement  which  Mr.  Douglas 
Lascelles  noted  out  of  the  corners  of  his 
eyes,  after  a  somewhat  sarcastic  fashion — 
and  followed  him  into  the  hall.  She  and 
Ellis  Grantham  conversed  there  together 
for  a  few  moments  in  low  tones,  and  the 
young  lady  went  with  him  to  the  door. 
Then  the  front -door  closed,  and  Anna 
Gray  came  back  with  a  slight  color  in  her 
cheeks  and  moist  eyes. 

"  Why,  my  dear,  you  are  crying,"  said 
Mrs.  Lascelles. 

"  I  am  sorry  Ellis  is  going,  aunty," 
Anna  Gray  replied,  in  a  low  voice.  She 
then  rose  quietly  and  went  up-stairs. 


XIX. 

THE    REVEREND    MR.   GRAXTIIAM. 

IN  a  room  on  the  right  of  the  front- 
door of  a  small  house,  in  the  suburbs  ol 
1 'it-dim >nt,  a  man  was  seated  at  a  table  on 
thU  >ame  night  writing. 

It  was  a  very  pleasant-looking  little  es- 
tablishment within  and  without.  Tlio  yard 
was  covered  with  greensward,  and  some 
zinnias,  petunias,  chrysanthemums,  and 
other  flowers  of  autumn,  were  still  in 
bloom.  A  honeysuckle  was  trained  upon 
one  of  the  pillars  of  the  small  porch,  and 
a  madeira-vine  upon  that  opposite.  Both 
were  in  flower,  and  you  thus  entered  un- 
der a  fragrant  arch.  A  neat  railing 
divided  the  house  from  the  street,  and 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


with  its  lilacs  ami  ovenhadowmg  ti 
was  ncarlv  embowered  in  verdure. 

The  room  mentioned  was  evidently  a 
stiuly.      Tin1    walls    were    nearly    covered 
with    book- shelves    containing    leather- 
bouml  volumes,  some  of  them  ponderous 
folios.      In  one  corner  was  an  old  mahog- 
any  secretary,  with    drawers    opened  by 
brass  handles.     Opposite  the  single  win- 
dow was  a  hard  and  narrow  lounge,  which 
looked    very  uncomfortable.     The   table 
which  stood  in  the  centre  was   covered 
with  books  and  papers;  and  at  this  table 
the  student — a  man  past  sixty,  with 
||  gl'ay  hair,  and  clad  in  black,  with  a  white 
I  neck-cloth.     His  face  was  one  of  strong 
I  character,  but  had  the    mild   expression 
I  peculiar  to  those  who  pass  their  lives  in  a 
I  round  of  simple  duties,  out  of  the  great 
I  whirlpool  of  the   world.     Such,  in  fact, 
I  had  been  the  life  of  Mr.  Grantham,  rector 
I  of  the  Piedmont  parish. 

He  was  an  altogether  excellent  person, 
I  and  had  officiated  at  Piedmont  for  more 
than  thirty  years.  He  had  frequently  re- 
ceived calls  elsewhere,  for  he  was  a  very 
good  preacher  and  one  of  the  ablest  theo- 
logians of  his  diocese,  but  he  had  declined 
them  all.  He  would  not  sever  his  con- 
nection with  the  parish  of  his  affections. 
The  bait  of  a  larger  salary  and  "a  more 
extended  sphere  of  usefulness  "  had  not 
moved  him.  As  to  the  salary,  he  did  not 
want  it,  he  said,  as  he  had  daily  bread — 
which  was  more  than  half  the  world,  and 
many  better  people  than  himself,  were 
certain  of  when  they  got  up  in  the  morn- 
ing ;  and  in  regard  to  the  more  extended 
sphere  of  usefulness,  there  was  a  sufficient 
sphere  for  anybody  in  a  parish  with  a 
dozen  families.  If  he  could  look  after 
that  number  of  people,  and  keep  them 
from  stumbling,  he  would  be  satisfied.  So 
Mr.  Grantham  had  declined  with  friendly 
acknowledgments  all  the  calls.  II is  work 
was  here.  He  had  gone  on  marrying  and 
christening  and  burying  the  people  of  his 
little  parish  year  after  year,  and  doing  his 
best  to  console  the  heavy-hearted  in  their 
trouble.  He  was  a  very  good  preacher  in- 
deed— earnest  and  persuasive  rather  than 
given  to  chill  logic,  and  habitually  avoid- 


ing the  discussion  of  eternal  torment  as  u 
means  ,.f  touching  the  heart.  His  theol- 
ogy began  and  ended,  apparently,  with 
the  parable  of  the  Prodigal  Son.  His 
wife  had  died  some  years  before,  but  he 
was  very  calm  and  cheerful.  He  had 
bent  for  a  moment,  but  risen  upright 
again  like  a  tree  with  a  sound  heart.  He 
preached  as  usual  on  the  Sunday  succeed- 
ing her  death.  It  is  true  that  he  had 
fainted  as  lie  entered  his  house,  on  re- 
turning from  church,  but  nobody  knew 
about  that. 

Mr.  Grantham  was  a  Low-Churchman. 
Almost  all  Virginia  Episcopalians  are. 
Sometimes  high-church  friends  from  oth- 
er dioceses  said  to  him,  "  You  people  in 
Virginia  are  not  Episcopalians;  why  not 
call  yourselves  Methodists,  or  by  any 
name  that  suits  you,  at  once?"  AVhen 
such  things  were  said  to  Mr.  Grantham,  he 
smiled  and  shook  his  head.  His  reply 
was  mild  but  incisive:  "It  was  better  to 
be  low-church  than  on  the  way  to  Rome" 
he  said.  "  Rome  was  seductive — she  knew 
human  nature,  and  how  to  appeal  to  it. 
He  would  like  to  be  a  Romanist  him- 
self, if  he  could  be,  conscientiously  — 
it  was  a  tempting  theory  that  we  could 
be  washed  clean  from  sin  by  confessing 
and  doing  penance.  That  was  alluring — 
it  was  better  to  be  on  our  guard.  The 
only  safe  rule  to  follow  was,  *  Touch  not, 
taste  not,  handle  not.'  If  you  touched  it 
you  would  probably  taste  it,  and  then 
handle  it ;  and  if  you  handled  it,  you 
would  be  apt  to  end  by  fondling  it, 
which  would  be  unfortunate — and  he  was 
afraid  many  good  people  were  begin- 
ning to  fondle  it.  As  to  the  charge  that 
the  Virginia  Church  was  low-church,  that 
was  true,  but  it  was  a  very  good  Episco- 
pal Church  for  all  that.  Its  bishops 
claimed  no  *  mysterious  sanctity '  for 
themselves — there  were  Articles  XX I II. 
and  XXV.  But  they  were  apostolic,  if 
not  Romanist,  and  were  all  the  better  for 
it.  In  fact,  Rome  was  schismatical,  and 
heresy  and  schism  were  denounced  in  the 
prayer-book.  In  Virginia,  however,  peo- 
ple did  not  lean  on  ordinances  but  on  the 
Word ;  they  were  evangelical,  and  not 


58 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


sectarian.  It  did  not  matter  very  much 
what  Church  you  belonged  to  or  what 
dress  you  wore.  The  important  question 
was  whether  you  were  travelling  the  right 
road;  if  you  were,  by  God's  help  you 
would  arrive." 

This  good  man  went  a  step  further: 
lie  had  a  lurking  sympathy  even  with  the 
"  Reformed  Episcopal"  movement,  though 
he  did  not  approve  of  it.  Under  all  the 
circumstances  it  was  unnecessary.  The 
word  "regenerated,"  and  other  expres- 
sions in  the  prayer-book,  ought  not  to 
hurt  anybody's  conscience:  regenerated 
meant  "grafted  into  the  Church" — see 
Article  XXVII.  When  you  grafted  on 
a  young  scion  you  did  not  change  its 
nature,  but  you  placed  it  where  the  new 
life  could  course  through  it.  And  then 
there  was  the  point  of  linguistics.  If  you 
altered  regenerated,  you  would  have  to  go 
on  and  alter  a  great  many  things.  It  was 
unnecessary  to  reform  the  whole  English 
language.  Certain  terms  had  changed 
their  meanings.  There  wras  u  the  Lord 
preventing  us;"  which,  nevertheless,  was 
not  a  prayer  to  be  hindered  in  our  good 
deeds.  The  letter  killed ;  it  was  the  spirit 
that  gave  life. 

A  warm  personal  friendship  for  Bishop 
Cummins,  the  leader  of  the  Reformed 
Episcopal  movement,  may  have  had  its 
inlluence  upon  Mr.  Grantham.  It  was 
ditlicult  to  believe  that  any  views  which 
he  espoused  were  unfounded.  Bishop 
Cummins  he  often  said,  was  "a  heavenly 
man.  His  appeals  were  addressed  too 
much  to  the  mere  feelings,  perhaps.  He 
wa*  not  wanting  in  strength,  for  no  man 
had  a  dearer  or  sounder  intellect ;  and  he 
broke  down  the  sceptical  objections  of 
the  infidels  who  came  to  hear  him  by 
sheer  force  of  logic — but  then  he  did  not 
keep  to  that.  He  appealed  too  passion- 
ately to  the  emotions,  which  should  not 
be  looked  to  so  e\elu>ively.  This  apart, 
IJislnip  ('nnmiins  was  a  man  of  the 
apostolic  type,  with  no  thought  but  hi* 
work,  and  roolved  to  wear  out  his  life  in 
it.  lie  wa>  al-o  a  man  of  kindling  en- 
thusiasm, and  devoted  to  what  was  pure 
and  of  good  report.  He  had  the  utmost 


sweetness  of  temper.  Children  came  to 
him  unconsciously.  His  heart  was  ex- 
ceedingly soft,  and  his  hand  open  to 
distress.  He  liked  humble  people,  and 
smiled  sweetly  upon  them ;  but  did  not 
smile  so  readily  at  young  ladies  and  oth- 
ers wrho  made  a  clerical  Mion'  of  him, 
and  sent  him  delicacies,  and  burnt  in- 
cense before  him.  He  had  no  time  or 
desire  to  be  made  a  celebrity  of,  and  did 
not  want  the  delicacies — there  were  the 
poor.  He  lived  his  life  as  seeing  the  end." 
This  was  what  Mr.  Grantham  was  accus- 
ed to  say  of  Bishop  Cummins.  One  day 
he  read  a  few  words  with  black  lines 
around  them  in  a  newspaper;  he  dropped 
the  paper,  and  said  aloud, 

"  Take  him  for  all  in  all,  we  shall  not 
look  upon  his  like  again." 

On  this  even iii^-  Mr.  Grantham  had 
come  into  his  study  after  tea  to  reflect 
and  work.  As  Ellis  had  gone  to  call  on 
his  friends  before  his  departure  for  the 
Seminary,  which  would  take  place  on  the 
next  morning,  the  good  man  felt  verj 
lonely  and  depressed.  Since  the  death 
of  his  wife,  all  his  love  for  her  had  con 
centrated  itself  upon  his  son.  The  thought 
that  he  was  going  away  was  very  sorrow 
ful  indeed.  Life  was  uncertain,  and  IK 
himself  was  growing  old  now — might  not 
this  be  their  last  parting?  He  leaned 
forehead  on  his  hands,  and  his  hands  on 
the  table.  The  light  of  the  two  candles 
in  old  -  fashioned  candlesticks,  fell  upon 
his  gray  hair,  and  a  deep  sigh  followed — 
it  was  very  sad,  indeed,  to  think  of  part 
ing  with  his  beloved  Ellis. 

After  awhile  the  forehead  rose,  am 
Mr.  Grantham  got  up  and  walked  up  am 
down  the  floor.  He  was  thinking  of 
some  parish  affairs  demanding  his  atten 
tion  on  the  next  day.  lie  could  not  neg 
lect  these.  There  was  the  poor  familx 
near  the  Riduy,  \\lio  were  terribly  in  wan 
of  clothing;  and  as  he  had  appealed  t< 
smile  of  his  lady  parishioners,  he  hopcc 
to  be  able  to  supply  them  before  the  Col( 
weather  set  in.  There  were  also  som< 
orphan*  in  a  wretched  cabin  which  IK 
had  visited.  It  had  made  his  heart  bleec 
to  sec  how  destitute  they  were.  Some 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


59 


must  be  done  for  thorn.  Whatever 
his  private  troubles  or  labors  were  lie  could 
not  neglect  "his  poor" — a  name  he  call- 
ed them  by:  that  indieated  his  personal 
concern  with  them.  Other  people  had 
their  own,  no  doubt.  These  were  his. 

lla\ing  reflected  maturely  upon  the 
wants  of  his  poor,  and  resolved  what  he 
would  do  at  once  to  relieve  them,  he  sat 
down,  and  opening  an  old  portfolio  began 
to  write,  lie  was  evidently  composing  a 
discourse,  or  perhaps  a  treatise,  as  from 
time  to  time  he  rose,  consulted  a  volume 
on  the  shelves,  laid  it  open  on  the  table 
before  him  and  made  quotations,  and  oth- 
erwise demeaned  himself  as  a  historical 
or  polemical  writer.  In  fact,  the  compo- 
sition on  which  the  good  man  was  en- 
gaged was  very  polemical  indeed.  It 
was  his  "History  of  Ritualism,"  upon 
which  he  had  been  at  work  for  many 
years  —  a  crushing  and  vindictive  expose 
of  the  Tractarian  movement  in  the  Angli- 
can Church,  with  trenchant  and  by  no 
means  complimentary  references  to  its 
influence  on  the  misguided  clergy  in  cer- 
tain portions  of  the  United  States  of 
America.  To  this  congenial* occupation 
the  mild  Mr.  Grantham  applied  himself 
with  ardor.  His  face  glowed  —  some 
reverend  divine  was  probably  receiving  a 
severe  thrust.  All  at  once  Ellis  came  in  ; 
then  there  was  an  end  of  further  work 
on  the  "  History  of  Ritualism,"  since  it 
is  impossible  to  compose  when  one  is 
looking  at  another  person,  and  can  scarcc- 
e  the  person  through  tears. 

The  low  conversation  between  father 
and  son  continued  until  nearly  eleven, 
when  Mr.  Grantham  said  that  it  was  time 
for  the  young  man  to  go  to  bed.  AVhat 
they  said  to  each  other  was  personal  to 
themselves  and  ought  not  to  be  repeated ; 
for  the  words  and  looks  of  certain  human 
beings  on  certain  occasions  have  a  species 
of  sanctity  about  them.  Are  there  any 
more  sacred  than  those  of  a  father  and 
son  who  are  going  to  part  from  each 
other  ? 

"  Yes,  you  must  go  now ;  young  peo- 
ple require  rest,"  Mr.  Grantham  said  ;  "  it 
is  very  late  for  children  to  be  up." 


He  <miled,  but  it  was  a  very  sorrowful 
smile. 

"  You  will  always  be  a  child  to  me, 
Kllis.  It  seems  only  yesterday  that  your 
mother  held  vou  up  in  her  arms  f..r  me 
to  kiss !" 

He  placed  his  arms  around  the  young 
man's  neek  and  said,  in  a  faltering  voice, 

"Good -night,  my  boy  I"  kissing  him  as 
he  spoke.  Tears  were  in  the  eyes  of 
both.  Without  speaking,  Kllis  (Jrantham 
went  to  his  chamber;  his  voice  had  quite 
failed  him. 


XX. 
MR.  GRANTHAM'S  GUESTS. 

MR.  GRANTIIAM  did  not  feel  in  the 
least  like  working  any  more,  and  resolved 
that  he  would  not  do  so.  He  went  back 
to  his  seat,  however — from  habit,  no  doubt 
— and,  sitting  down,  assumed  the  same 
depressed  attitude,  his  forehead  resting 
upon  his  hands,  and  his  hands  on  the  ta- 
ble, or  rather  on  the  page  he  had  been 
writing  in  the  "History  of  Ritualism.'' 

He  remained  immovable  in  this  attitude 
for  some  time.  Then  he  raised  his  head 
and  listened;  he  had  heard  a  knock  at 
the  front-door  of  the  house. 

"  Some  one  needs  me  who  is  in  greater 
trouble,  perhaps,  than  myself,"  he  said,  in 
a  low  voice. 

He  took  one  of  the  candles  from  the 
table,  and  going  to  the  front-door  opened 
it.  A  man  with  a  heavy  black  beard, 
holding  a  child  in  his  arms,  was  standing 
in  the  moonlight  on  the  little  porch ;  and 
as  the  man  at  first  looked  at  him  without 
speaking,  the  incident  was  a  little  star- 
tling. Mr.  Grantham  did  not  appear, 
however,  to  regard  it  in  that  light,  and 
said  mildly, 

"  Come  in,  friend :  can  I  be  of  any 
service  to  you  ?" 

"You  are  the  priest  of  this  village?" 
said  the  man. 

"  I  am  a  pastor,  my  friend — though 
priest  is  a  very  good  word." 

"  I  heard  you  never  turned  away  any- 
body in  distress." 


60 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"  I  have  never  done  so ;  I  trust  I  never 
shall." 

"I  am  in  distress.  My  child  here  is 
sick ;  her  foot  is  sprained,  and  her  arm 
hurt," 

"  Come  in,  friend." 

"  I  am  a  common  man — a  circus-actor 
—  and  Lave  my  reasons  for  not  going 
to  the  tavern  to-night.  Will  you  lodge 
us?" 

"  Yes." 

"You  know  nothing  about  me.  I 
may  be  a  tramp  or  a  thief.  You  are  not 
afraid?" 

Mr.  Grantliam  placed  the  candle  on  a 
chair  in  the  passage,  and  took  Mouse  in 
his  arms. 

"  No,  I  am  not  afraid,"  he  said. 

Worn  out  by  the  many  incidents  of 
the  evening  and  night,  Mouse  had  fallen 
into  a  doze  in  the  Lefthander's  arms,  and 
Mr.  Grantliam  took  her  into  his  own  so 
gently  that  she  did  not  wake. 

"  If  you  will  take  the  candle,"  he  said, 
"  I  will  show  you  your  room." 

lie  then  went  slowly  up  the  narrow 
staircase,  followed  by  the  Lefthander,  and 
opened  the  door  of  a  chamber  over  the 
study,  containing  a  bed,  a  table,  an  old 
sofa,  and  a  few  chairs.  He  laid  the  child 
upon  the  bed,  drawing  the  counterpane 
over  her,  and  as  he  had  carried  her  with 
precaution  she  did  not  wake  up. 

Mr.  (Iraiitham  stood  looking  at  her  for 
a  moment,  and  admiring  her  delicate  feat- 
ures. 

"What  a  little  snow-drop!"  he  said; 
for  he  was  fond  of  flowers,  and  often 
used  them  as  illustrations.  He  added, 

"  It  is  getting  chill,  and  there  is  no  fire 
here.  Your  child  ought  not  to  suffer  for 
want  of  it." 

He  looked  round  him  and  saw  some 
light  wood  in  one  corner,  which  had 
probably  been  there  for  a  long  time. 
With  this  and  an  old  newspaper  he  kin- 
dled a  cheerful  fire,  and  then  rose  with  a 
gratified  expression  as  the  bla/.e  be^-m 
to  lick  the  sticks.  The  Lefthander  Wtt 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  room,  look- 
ing at  him  from  under  his  straight  black 
eyebrows.  He  had  placed  the  candle  on 


the  table,  and  one  of  his  large  hands  rest 
ed  beside  it. 

"I  have  money,"  he  said.  "I  wi! 
pay." 

As  lie  spoke  he  took  a  roll  of  bank 
notes  and  some  gold  from  his  pocket 
Mr.  Grantliam  put  them  aside  gently. 

"  Are  you  hungry  ?"  he  said ;  "  you  o 
your  child?  You  see  I  come  to  tli 
point.  What  we  want  most  of  all,  some 
times,  in  this  world,  is  food  and  sleep." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  hungry,  or  Mignon — 
that  is  her  name,"  said  the  Lefthandei 
"  I  see  that  what  I  heard  about  you  wa 
true.      I  was  afraid  you  would  turn  u 
away." 

"  I  do  not   turn   away  people,  friend 
I  have  a  son.     Perhaps  he  may  want  a 
shelter  some  of  these  days — I  should  no 
like  to  have  him  turned  away." 

Mr.  Grantliam  went  to  Mouse  an< 
smoothed  the  hair  gently  back  from  he 
forehead,  looking  at  her  with  a  smile. 

"Poor  little  one!"  he  said;  "it  is  sa( 
to  think  she  should  want  a  shelter."  He 
added  to  the  Lefthander,  "  If  you  shoulc 
require  anything  during  the  night,  friend 
you  will  find  me  in  the  room  under  this 
Wake  me  without  any  ceremony.  There 
is  no  bolt  on  the  door." 

"  You  are  not  afraid  of  my  robbing 
you  ?"  repeated  the  Lefthander. 

Mr.  Grantliam  shook  his  head. 

"There  is  no  danger  of  that,"  he  said 
"  Men  who  look  at  their  children  as  yoi 
look  at  your  little  girl  never  rob  people.' 

He  went  out  and  closed  the  door  be 
hind  him.  As  he  passed  the  room  oppo 
site  he  stopped,  hesitated,  and  then  turne< 
the  knob  softly  and  went  in.  This  was 
Ellis's  chamber,  and  he  was  sound  asleep 
As  tlie  moon  was  shining  brightly,  his  fa 
thcr  could  sec  him  very  plainly,  and  bend 
inu:  over  his  narrow  bed  he  kissed  him  on 
his  forehead. 

"How  can  I  live  without  him!"  ho 
said. 

After  taxing  at  the  sleeper  for  som< 
moments  in  silence,  lie  sillied  and  wen 
out  of  the  room,  down-stairs  to  bis  study 
Here  he  looked  round  him,  and  scemcc 
to  be  searching  for  something,  whicl 


VIRGINIA   BOHEMIANS. 


61 


seemed  to  be  an  old  buffalo-robe,  used  in 
his  light  carry-all  in  winter;  it  w;is  lying 
|  in  a  corner,  and  Mr.  Granthain  brought  it 
and  spread  it  upon  the  narrow  and  un- 
comfortable lounge  opposite  the  window. 
lie  then  put  out  his  remaining  candle, 
and  stretched  himself  upon  the  hard 
lounge,  drawing-  the  ImlTalo-robc  around 
him.  It  was  not  a  very  pleasant  couch, 
but  then  Ellis's  bed  was  too  narrow  for 
two  persons.  As  to  his  own  chamber, 
his  guests  had  that. 

People  do  not  sleep  late  in  the  morn- 
ing in  beds  as  hard  as  the  lounge  in  Mr. 
Grantham's  study.  lie  woke  a  little  after 
daylight,  and,  remembering  the  incident 
of  the  preceding  night,  listened  to  dis- 
cover whether  his  guests  were  yet  stir- 
ring in  the  chamber  above.  The  whole 
house  was  perfectly  still,  and  as  Mr.  Gran- 
tham  did  not  wish  to  wake  any  one  soon- 
er than  they  desired,  he  lay  wrapped  in 
his  buffalo -robe,  engaged  in  reflection. 
After  awhile  the  first  rays  of  sunrise 
came  in  through  the  window,  and  the 
old  servant  of  the  household  was  heard 
going  up-stairs.  Mr.  Grantham  then  re- 
flected that  his  guests  would  be  aroused, 
in  any  case,  so  he  rose  and  went  up  the 
staircase,  to  ask  if  they  needed  anything. 
There  was  no  reply  to  his  knock,  and  he 
knocked  again.  Still  no  answer  came, 
and  he  quietly  opened  the  door. 

The  room  was  empty. 

Mr.  Grantham  looked  round  him  writh  an 
air  of  great  surprise.  What  had  become 
of  the  wayfarers  ?  It  was  a  proof  of  this 
good  man's  confidence  in  human  nature, 
that  it  never  even  occurred  to  him  that 
perhaps  the  rough-looking  man  with  the 
singular  eyebrows  had  gone  off  in  this 
cautious  manner,  in  order  to  take  some- 
thing which  did  not  belong  to  him  away 
with  him.  Having  made  his  estimate  of 
the  man  by  the  look  bestowed  upon  his 
child,  he  held  to  it — this  was  not  a  thief. 
But  what  had  induced  him  to  go  off  dur- 
ing the  night? 

He  scanned  the  appearance  of  things. 
The  bed  had  been  slept  in,  but  not  by  the 
man,  who  had  probably  spent  the  night 
on  the  old  sofa.  The  impression  of  the 


child's  head  was  still  on  the  pillow.  All 
at  once  he  saw  a  slip  of  paper  lying  on 
the  table  by  an  old  inkstand  ami  pen 
which  generally  stood  on  the  mantel- 
piece. Tin-  paper  was  folded,  and  as  Mr. 
(Jranthain  took  it  up  a  gold  eagle  drop- 
ped upon  the  floor.  The  paper  contain- 
ed the  following  words,  in  the  handwrit- 
ing of  a  man  apparently  not  accustomed 
to  penmanship,  but  not  illiterate  : 

"You  took  a  poor  man  and  his  child 
into  your  house  without  asking  any  ques- 
tions. You  would  not  take  money  for 
yourself,  but  you  will  take  this  gold 
piece  for  some  poor  people  who  may 
want  it." 

Mr.  Grantham  read  this  paper  with  a 
bright  smile  upon  his  face,  and  picked  up 
the  gold  piece  and  put  it  in  his  pocket. 
But  why  did  his  guest  go  away  so  quiet- 
ly ?  He  looked  round  him  —  there  was 
nothing  to  throw  light  upon  the  subject. 
He  was  just  on  the  point  of  leaving  the 
room  when  something  on  the  bed  attract- 
ed his  attention.  It  was  a  dark  object, 
half  covered  by  the  counterpane,  which 
seemed  to  have  been  accidentally  thrown 
over  it.  He  drew  it  out,  and  found  that 
it  was  a  travelling-satchel  of  black  leather, 
which  the  wayfarers  had  probably  over- 
looked in  the  haste  of  their  departure. 

Mr.  Grantham  stood  for  some  minutes 
looking  at  the  satchel,  which  was  about 
the  size  of  an  ordinary  carpet-bag. 
Should  he  see  what  it  contained?  It 
would  be  easy  to  do  so.  The  satchel 
was  unlocked — the  key  had  been  lost,  or 
its  small  mistress  'might  have  it  in  her 

O 

pocket;  there  would  be  no  trouble,  there- 
fore ;  but,  for  all  that,  Mr.(  Jrantham  hesi- 
tated. He  was  a  conscientious  man,  and 
did  not  like  the  idea  of  opening  people's 
satchels.  He  could  see  through  the 
opening  that  the  bag  contained  some 
articles  belonging  to  a  child's  wardrobe, 
and  thought  that  he  felt  a  book  and  a 
package  of  papers  at  the  bottom ;  but 
he  had  no  right  to  look  at  people's  pa- 
lters. He  would  keep  the  satchel ;  no 
doubt  the  owner  of  it  would  call  and  ask 


62 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


for  it;  if  he  did  not,  it  might  be  defen- 
sible to  examine  its  contents  and  endeav- 
or to  ascertain  the  ownership,  with  a  view 
to  its  restitution.  There  would  be  time 
enough  for  that. 

As  he  heard  Ellis  come  out  of  his  room 
at  this  moment,  he  put  the  satchel  under 
his  arm  and  went  down-stairs. 


XXI. 

BRANTZ    ELLIOT. 

ONE  morning  Brantz  Elliot  came  out 
of  the  front -door  of  the  house  in  the 
mountain  with  a  fishing-rod  on  his  shoul- 
der ;  and  the  dogs,  who  were  his  intimate 
friends  by  this  time,  greeted  him  with  joy, 
leaping  and  frisking  around  him. 

It  was  a  clear  crisp  day  of  late  Septem- 
ber, and  the  rich  sunshine  bathed  the  foli- 
age of  the  valley  and  the  slopes  burning 
away  under  the  fiery  finger  of  autumn. 
You  could  see  a  long  way  through  the 
transparent  atmosphere,  but  over  the  far 
headlands  hung  a  dreamy  smoke,  round- 
ing and  idealizing  them.  October  was 
near,  and  October  in  Virginia  is  the 
month  for  dreams,  if  you  fancy  wander- 
ing into  the  beautiful  woodlands  to  in- 
dulge them. 

Brantz  Elliot  had  not  left  Daddy 
Welle^'s  at  the  end  of  three  days — in 
fa«-t,  more  than  three  weeks  had  passed 
since  his  arrival.  This  had  resulted  from 
two  circumstances,  lie  had  found  the 
life  of  the  mountains  precisely  to  his 
taste,  and  his  presence  seemed  to  be  a  -  at- 
isfaction  to  everybody.  Nothing  further 
had  l>een  said  by  the  master  "f  the  man- 
sion implying  hesitation  a*  to  lodging  the 
young  sportsman;  on  the  contrary,  he 
was  treated  a->  a  permanent  gue*t.  Pad- 
dy Welles  evidentlv  wished  to  have  him 
remain  as  niurh  as  he  himself  de-iivd  to 
do  so.  They  were  hunt-men,  and  ra<-h 
recognized  a  comrade. 

Hunting  was  the  master -passion  of 
Brant/  Elliot.  He  had  not  wanted  op- 
portunities to  substitute  other  pursuits  for 
it.  He  was  the  only  son  of  a  merchant 
of  New  York,  and  as  Elliot,  8r.,  was 


wealthy,  the  young  fellow  had  pursued 
the  career  of  youths  with  rich  fathers  who 
are  devoted  to  them.  He  had  gone  to 
college  and  afterward  to  Europe,  to  think 
what  he  would  do  in  the  world,  when  the 
news  reached  him  that  his  father  had  sud- 
denly died.  An  uncle  had  taken  charge 
of  the  estate,  however,  and  managed  it 
for  him,  and  the  young  fellow  remained 
in  Europe,  endeavoring  to  assuage  his 
grief  by  travel :  it  was  a  distraction,  but 
gave  him  little  pleasure,  and  nothing  af- 
forded him  much  satisfaction  but  open- 
air  sports.  He  did  not  wish  to  be  a  law- 
yer, or  a  politician,  or  a  merchant;  and 
looked  forward  with  no  pleasure  to  re- 
turning to  his  home  on  the  Fifth  Avenue, 
where  an  aunt  still  kept  up  the  establish- 
ment for  him. 

lie  was  essentially  a  rustic  in  his  tastes, 
and  cities  bored  him.  Neither  Paris  nor 
Rome  aroused  any  enthusiasm  in  him. 
While  strolling  along  the  boulevards,  look- 
ing at  the  crowd  and  the  brilliant  equi- 
pages, he  was  generally  thinking  whether 
he  could  not  get  up  a  hunt  somewhere  in 
the  country,  and  have  woods  and  water 
and  peasants  around  him,  instead  of  shops 
with  plate -glass  windows,  and  flaneurs 
with  waxed  mustaches.  If  the  peasants 
were  poachers  it  would  be  all  the  better ; 
but  anything  was  better  than  kid  gloves 
and  the  opera.  He  had  hunted  a  good 
deal  in  Scotland  and  the  Alps,  and  liked 
the  Mer  de  Glace  and  the  lakes.  The 
Bernese  Oberland  was  an  attraction.  He 
spent  some  weeks  in  the  Tyrol;  then  he 
came  back  at  last  to  New  York,  to  reflect 
more  maturely  as  to  what  he  would  do  in 

life. 

lie  could  not  decide.  It  was  really 
very  sa«l  indeed,  but  New  York,  his  na- 
tive place,  bored  him  just  as  much  as 
Paris  and  Rome.  It  was  a  terrible  strug- 
gle to  get  through  his  day.  The  club 
helped  him  a  little  —  there  were  a  great 
many  good  fellows  there,  laboriously  en- 
gaged in  the  same  employment  of  killing 
time.  They  were  horse-men  for  the  most 
part,  and  spoke  of  organizing  an  amateur 
eoaehing-ehib,  to  drive  four-in-hand,  and 
run  regularly  a  day's  stage  from  the  city. 


V1KC1NIA    BOHEMIANS. 


63 


coaches  were  to  be  strictly  English 
—  also    the    costunn's,   the    equipments, 
^bove  all,  the  demeanor   ami   pronuncia- 
tion of  the  gentlemen  coachmen.     "  Strict- 
ly English"  was  to  he  tin-  motto  of  the 
[club,  and  everybody  was  to  bo  a  coach- 
llman  of  the  strictest  sect  as  to  apparel,  and 
ipassengers  were  to  be  "booked"  and  rail- 
ed for,  and  there  was  a  horn  that  was  to 
be  blown,  and  the  whole  alTair  was  to  be 
||a  lark  of  the  first  magnitude,  indulged  in 
I  by  the  very  best  fellows  of  the  club,  in 
la  fashion  strictly  English.      As  the  de- 
Jtails  were  not  yet  arranged,  however,  Mr. 
iBrantz  Elliot,  who  was  fond  of  horses, put 
Ion  the  drab  costume  of  a  groom,  and  di- 
•fccting  his  real  groom  to  ride  behind  him, 
jllrove  his  drag  in  the  Central  Park — the 
ilreal  groom  looking  on  with  folded  arms 
;o  see  that  it  was  properly  done.     Even 
his,  however,  was  slow.     After  all,  he  was 
'in  town,"  and  to  be  in  town*  was  his 
nomination.     Cities  were  all  sameness  in 
iis  eyes.     He  was  accustomed  to  express 
Iris  views  with  great  frankness  to  his  in- 
timates.    Men  who   lived  in  crowds,  he 
paid,  were  all  rubbed  down  to  a  fearful 
•uniformity ;    there     was     no    character 
•about    them.     You  could  pick  out  any 
lone   hundred  city  men,  and  lay  one  of 
•them  down  on  pasteboard  and  cut  out  his 
•figure,  and  it  would  fit  the  other  ninety- 
«ine.     They  all  wore  the   same  clothes 
land  hats,  and  in  the  same  way.     They  all 
•walked  with  their  arms   at    exactly  the 
•same  angle.     They  all  took  off  their  hats 
•alike ;  said  "  really  !"  suppressing  the  r,  in 
Ithe  same  tone;  and  were  painfully  like 
leach  other.     What  he  wanted  was  people 
Iwith   angles  and  individuality.     If  they 
Iwere  rough,  it  did  not  matter  much.     Af- 
ter saying  this,  he  generally  yawned  and 
IB  it  a  cigar. 

In  fact,  what  has  been  called  "  the  wild 
JBidc"  was  strongly  developed  in  Brantz 
•Elliot.  Not  that  he  was  a  lawless  or 
•reckless  person,  unobservant  or  careless 
•of  the  proprieties  of  life,  or  at  all  want- 
ling  in  culture ;  on  the  contrary,  he  was 
m  very  exemplary  young  man  in  his  daily 
Wife.  He  had  never  soiled  himself  with 
•the  vices  which  lie  in  wait  to  entrap 


youth,  when  the  possessor  of  this  dan- 
gerous luxury  is  absent  from  hoinr  and 
exempt  from  familv  restraints,  with  plen- 
ty of  money  in  his  pocket.  He  had  no 
taste  for  ignoble  indulgence,  and  was  very 
far  fr»m  bring  deficient  in  literary  cult- 
ure. He  had  improved  his  time  at  col- 
lege, and  read  I'Yeiieh  and  (Jerman  <jiiite 
fluently;  but,  in  spite  of  all,  this  innate; 
"wildness"  predominated  lie  liked 
hunting,  fishing,  and  rambling  in  the 
woods  a  great  deal  better  than  reading 
or  "good  society."  His  tastes  were  ro- 
bust. He  preferred  the  open  air  to  the 
atmosphere  of  the  study,  lie  would 
have  been  delighted  with  the  company 
of  Cooper's  Leatherstocking,  and  the 
acme  of  enjoyment  to  him  would  have 
been  to  hunt  lions  in  Africa.  Not  find- 
ing these  luxuries  within  his  reach,  he 
looked  round  for  substitutes,  and  had 
enjoyed  an  expedition  to  the  Adiron- 
dacks.  Afterward,  hearing  from  a  friend 
who  had  visited  the  White  Sulphur  Springs 
in  Virginia  that  the  mountains  of  the  re- 
gion were  full  of  deer  and  old  hunters,  he 
had  determined  to  try  his  fortune  in  that 
direction. 

He  had,  accordingly, visited  the  Virginia 
springs  in  the  summer  of  this  year,  and 
had  made  some  satisfactory  forays  into 
the  neighboring  wilds.  On  his  way  back 
to  New  York  now,  he  had  taken  the  fancy 
to  stop  for  a  few  days  and  pursue  his  fa- 
vorite amusement  under  the  auspices  of 
Daddy  Welles,  who  seemed  to  be  a  little 
of  everything — hunter,  agriculturist,  prin- 
cipal or  agent  in  some  mysterious  busi- 
ness, or  what  not;  and  thus  it  was  that 
Mr.  Brantz  Elliot  had  become  an  inmate 
of  and  lingered  day  after  day  in  the 
mountain  house  in  the  secluded  little 
valley,  cut  off  from  the  rest  of  the  world, 
and  known  by  the  eccentric  name  of 
"Bohemia."  This,  he  said  to  himself, 
was  really  a  coincidence.  He  was  some- 
thing of  a  Bohemian  himself — for  there 
were  Bohemians  of  the  woods  as  well  as 
Bohemians  of  the  purlieus  of  cities.  It 
was,  therefore,  perfectly  appropriate  that 
this  young  Bohemian  of  the  fields  and 
forests  should  set  up  his  rest  in  the  small 


64 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


vale  of  "  Bohemia."  He  had  not  regret- 
ted doing  so  for  a  moment.  There  was 
no  doubt  at  all  about  the  fact  that  he 
was  enjoying  himself.  There  were  a 
plenty  of  pheasants,  wild  turkeys,  and 
deer,  too,  in  the  mountains;  and  the 
small  stream  traversing  the  narrow  valley 
afforded  excellent  fishing.  Now,  to  ram- 
ble along  the  grassy  banks  of  a  water- 
course, fishing-rod  in  hand,  or  go  out  be- 
fore sunrise  and  "drop  a  buck"  at  eighty 
yards,  was  to  this  young  gentleman  the 
height  of  human  felicity.  He  had  drop- 
ped several,  and  shot  countless  pheasants 
and  turkeys.  He  could  easily  have  paid 
for  his  board  and  lodgings  with  the  game 
he  had  killed.  When  he  was  not  hunt- 
ing or  fishing  he  was  smoking  'a  pipe, 
and  reading  the  last  magazines  sent  him, 
or  talking  with  Daddy  Welles  on  topics 
mutually  congenial  to  their  tastes. 


XXII. 

DADDY    WELLES    SURPRISED. 

Tins  serene  old  Daddy  Welles  was  a 
great  puzzle  to  Brantz  Elliot.  He  was 
made  up  of  piquant  contrasts,  and  afford- 
ed a  study  in  human  nature.  He  was 
hospitable  and  liberal  to  his  household, 
l>ut  evidently  loved  money.  His  guest 
liad  a  supply  of  gold;  and, when  he  paid 
J)addv  Welles,  the  mountaineer's  face  in- 
dicated unmistakable  pleasure  at  sight  of 
the  glittering  coin.  But  he  was  not  close 
in  his  dealings.  He  simply  loved  the 
siirht  of  money,  apparently.  Then,  for 
other  contrasts:  the  guileless  smile  of  the 
Daddy  plainly  concealed  an  acute  and 
oljN.-rvant  mind.  He  was  uneducated  iii 
books,  obviously — it  was  doubtful,  even,  if 
he  could  write  his  name — but,  as  obvious- 
Iv,  he  was  very  well  educated  in  the  book 
of  human  nature,  lie  uttered  observa- 
tions which  were  apothegms, and  inclined 
now  and  then  to  the  epigrammatic.  The 
oil,  he  said,  that  made  a  woman's  tongue 
run  glib  was  scandal;  and  the  axle-giva-e 
that  carried  a  man  downhill  very  fa-t  wa- 
whiskey.  He  called  lawyers  "  the  1'yers  ;" 
and  when  one  day  Nelly  was  paring  some 


apples  to  make  apple  -  butter,  he  said, 
"You're  not  looking  well,  Nelly  ;  go  and 
take  a  walk  and  let  the  apples  alone — 
pity  old  mother  Eve  hadn't."  For  Daddy 
Welles  had  his  quiet  humor. 

What  particularly  struck  Brantz  Elliot, 
however,  was   the    fact    that    something] 
mysterious  was  going  on   around  him; 
and  that  of  this  something  Daddy  Welles 
was  evidently  the  mainspring  and  master- 
spirit.     He  had  frequently  recalled  the] 
words  of  the  stage -driver  that  "queer 
stories  "  were  told  about  his  host.     There! 
really  seemed  to  be  some  ground  for  tl 
stories  in  question,  whatever  they  migl 
be.      At    certain    times    Daddy    Welh 
would  disappear,  and  remain  absent  ft 
two  or  three  days.      When  the  good  mi 
returned  on  his  old  raw-boned  steed, 
would  smile  in  his  guileless  way,  and 
ually  let  fall  the  observation  that  businc 
took  him  away  oftener   than   he  likc( 
but   as  to  the  precise  character  of  tl 
business  in  question,  he  apparently  cc 
sidered  it  unnecessary  to  enter  into  anj 
explanation.     Then  certain  roughly -cl 
persons  frequently  called  to  see  Dadc 
Welles,  and  they  held  confidential  intei 
views — looking  round  them  now  and  thei 
apparently  from  a  desire  to  satisfy  thei 
selves    that    they    were    not    overlie 
Once  they  were  overheard.    Brantz  Elli< 
had  gone  out  to  hunt  one  morning,  bi 
finding  no  game,  had  returned,  and  goi 
into  the   sitting-room,  where  he  learn 
back  in  one  of  the  split-bottomed  chaii 
to  look  at  the  engravings  in  a  new  mj 
zine.     While  thus  engaged,  he  had  IK 
voices,  and  observed  Daddy  Welles 
by  the  house  toward  the  rear  in  eompai 
with  a  visitor.     This  visitor  was  a  leal 
crow  figure  in   a  ragged  felt  hat,  with 
sarcastic  smile  on  his  tobacco-stained  lij 

"I  don't  altogether  like  it,  Daddy/1 
said  the  owner  of  the  ragged  hat,  in  a  lo\ 
tone. 

"No  danger,  no  danger,  Barney," 

dy   Welles  replied. 

"  Well,  if  you  say  so,  it's  so,  Daddy, 
the  visitor  responded  ;  "  but  strangers 

mighty  onsartain,  and  it's  je^t   as  well 
be  on  the-  lookout.     I  wouldn't  like 


VIRGINIA    UolIKMIANS. 


have  to  empty  my  double-barrel  at  any- 
body in  the  mounting."' 

IJrantz  Elliot  could  not  see  the  fan-  <»f 
the  speaker,  a-*  In1  \vas  walking  away  from 
him,  but  the  tone  in  which  he  spoke  set-m- 
od to  indicate  that  a  grin  accompanied  his 
words.  Thence  food  for  thought.  The 
stranger  who  was  mighty  uncertain  was 
apparently  himself,  and  he  it  was  who 
might  have  a  double-barrelled  gun  emp- 
tied at  him  in  the  mountain.  All  this  was 
more  interesting  than  agreeable.  What 
did  it  mean?  After  asking  himself  that 
question,  without  receiving  a  reply,  he  de- 
termined to  propound  it  to  Daddy  Welles 
himself.  One  morning,  therefore,  he  join- 
ed his  host  in  the  vicinity  of  the  cow- 
shelter,  and  said,  in  his  straightforward 
way, 

"  What's  going  on  here,  Daddy 
Welles?" 

A  sweet  smile  illumined  the  counte- 
nance of  Daddy  Welles,  and  he  said,  inno- 
ccntlv, 

"Uoin'  on, friend?" 

"Yes,"  said  Elliot;  "there's  no  doubt 
of  the  fact  that  something  is  going  on." 

"  Why,  what  makes  you  think  so  ?" 

"A  friend  of  yours  came  to  see  you 
yesterday  morning,  didn't  he?" 

"Yistiddy  mornin'?  Oh  yes;  —  you 
mean  Barney  Jones." 

"  Well,  what  were  you  and  Barney 
Jones  whispering  about,  like  two  conspir- 
ators? I  was  in  the  house  and  heard 
you,  as  you  went  by." 

"  Whisperin'  ?  Me  and  Barney  !"  said 
the  Daddy,  with  surprise.  "  Oh  no ;  he 
was  only  talkin'  about  things  in  general, 
as  neighbors  \|^11,  you  know,  when  they 
drop  in  to  chat." 

"  So  you  talk  about  strangers,  and  their 
being  onsartain,  do  you,  Daddy  Welles  ? — 
and  of  emptying  double-barrels  at  'em  in 
the  mountain  ?" 

"Well,  I  do  declare!"  Daddy  Welles 
said,  with  guileless  smiles ;  "  did  anybody 
say  that  P 

"Yes,  they  did  —  your  friend  Barney 
said  it." 

"  Well,  well !  but  that  Barney  always 
was  given  to  foolish  ways  of  talkin'. 
5 


You  see  there's  a  catamount  was  met  in 
the  mounting  last  week — not  a  common 
wildcat,  but  a  regular  painter — the  first 
seen  in  these  parts  for  a  long  time.  I  Ir's 
a  stranger  hereabouts;  and  if  \<>u  got  a 
good  look  at  one,  you'd  think  a  light  with 
him  was  mighty  onsartain,  indeed,  unless 
you  got  a  chance  to  empty  both  barrels 
at  him  before  he  got  to  you !" 

"  Come  now,  1  )addy  ;  you  know  your 
friend  Barney  Jones  didn't  mean  a  cata- 
mount.— Last  week  ?  was  there  one  seen  ? 
I  mean  to  have  a  pull  at  him !" 

"  We'll  go  after  him,  if  you  say  so, 
friend." 

The  conversation  was  apparently  pass- 
ing to  other  topics,  which  did  not  seem  to 
displease  the  Daddy. 

"  Agreed  ! — but  about  Barney  Jones," 
persisted  Elliot ;  "  what  were  you  and  he 
talking  about  ?  It's  none  of  my  business, 
but—" 

"  Talkin'  about  ?  Oh  yes ;  he  did  men- 
tion he  had  killed  two  wolves.  They're 
mighty  skeerce  now,  and  nothin'  hardly 
brings  'em  but  a  dead  horse." 

Brantz  Elliot  fell  into  the  trap.  The 
connection  between  wolves  and  a  dead 
horse  evidently  excited  his  curiosity  in 
the  highest  degree.  Forgetting  all  else, 
he  said, 

"  A  dead  horse !  What  has  a  dead 
horse  to  do  with  wolf -hunting,  Daddy 
Welles?" 

"  Law  bless  you !"  the  Daddy  said,  with 
an  air  of  innocent  surprise,  "don't  you 
know?  Well,  that  shows  you  are  city- 
raised,  friend,  much  as  you  do  know  about 
huntin'.  That's  the  way  we  hunt  wrolves. 
Only  last  year  we  got  four  that  way. 
You  ought  to  'a  been  here." 

"  Tell  me  about  it !"  said  Brantz  Elliot, 
with  a  hunter's  ardor. 

"  Well,  you  see,  a  wolf's  a  mighty  cun- 
nin'  varmint,  and  hides  all  day,  and  only 
comes  out  at  night.  He  won't  go  in  a 
bear-trap.  He  jest  smells  around  it,  and 
shakes  his  head  and  goes  away.  In  the 
mornin'  he  ain't  in  the  trap,  and  there's 
your  twenty  dollars  gone !" 

Elliot,  intent  on  thoughts  of  wolves, 
forgot  all  about  Barney  Jones. 


66 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"  Twenty  dollars !"  he  said. 
"Didn't  you  know  about  that? 


The 


law  pays  twenty  dollars  for  a  wolfs  hide 
and  sculp  —  they  kill  all  the  sheep  and 
calves  they  can  find,  and  are  worth  it. 
Well,  we  set  a  dead  horse  last  year,  and 
made  nigh  on  to  a  hundred  dollars  by 
him." 

"  A  dead  horse  !"  repeated  Elliot,  now 
highly  interested;  "tell  me  all  about  it, 
Daddy." 

"  Well,  this  is  the  way  we  did  it  :  You 
see,  snow  was  on  the  ground,  and  every 
mornin'  you  could  see  the  wolf-tracks 
around  the  sheep-pens  ;  and  if  a  cow  and 
calf  strayed  away  in  the  mounting,  the 
cow  came  back  but  the  calf  was  missin'. 
This  went  on  some  time,  and  at  last  it 
was  onsupportable.  So  me  and  some 
neighbors  bought  an  old  horse  for  five 
dollars,  and  took  him  up  in  the  mounting 
and  cut  his  throat." 

"What  on  earth  was  that  for?" 

"  Well,  you  see  he  was  the  trap.  When 
he  was  done  kicking  we  slit  him  open 
from  his  forelegs  along  his  belly  and  put 
strychnine  in  him,  and  went  back  home." 

"  Strychnine  !  Oh  yes  ;  I  begin  to 
understand." 

"That's  the  way  we  do  when  dogs 
worry  our  sheep,  and  the  owners  won't 
keep  'em  at  home,  spite  of  a  civil  re- 
quest. We  put  stryclmtfti  in  a  dead 
sheep,  and  on  the  next  day  there's  a  pile 
o'  dead  dogs  by  that  sheep." 

Here  Daddy  Welles  laughed  cheerfully. 

"  And  your  horse-trap  answered  ?" 

"You  ought  'a  been  in  the  mounting 
when  we  went  up  next  mornin'!  There 
was  four  big  wolves,  and  ;i  wild-cat,  and 
crows,  and  hawks,  no  end  of  'em,  all  lay- 
in'  around  dead  in  the  snow  nearabouts  ! 


They  were  the  very  Li-'u*  -t  wolves  you 
ever  laid  your  eyes  on,  and  we  ir«»t  eighty 
dollars  for  the  hides  and  sculps." 

"  \Vell,"  said  Elliot,  "that's  a  new  kind 
«»f  trap,  Daddy  Welles,  lint  you  have- 
not  told  me  about  those  people  goim:  and 
coming  —  Barney  Jones  ami  the  re>t." 

"Goin'  and  comin'  !  Why  you  must 
'a  deceived  yourself,  friend." 

Elliot  shook  his  head. 


"  There  is  something  going  on,  Daddy 
But  then  it's  no  business  of  mine,  and  I 
don't  care.  You  are  not  counterfeiters, 
are  you  ?  If  you  are,  it's  nothing  to  me ; 
but  I  am  pretty  certain  you  are  not.  If 
you  are,  go  ahead ;  I'm  not  an  officer  of 
the  United  States  Mint.  I'm  a  hunter, 
and  I  have  come  here  to  drop  a  buck 
when  I  can,  and  see  the  sun  come  in  at 
my  window  and  tell  me  good -morning. 
I  don't  belong  to  the  detective  police,  and 
I've  got  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Things  in 
this  direction  suit  me  exactly,  and  I  mean 
to  stay  at  least  a  week  longer.  The  men 
of  cities  delight  me  not,  nor  the  women 
either  —  see  Shakspeare.  All  I  ask  is 
that  Broadway  will  attend  to  its  own 
business  and  let  me  attend  to  mine." 

"  Well,  that's  right,  friend,"  said  Daddy 
Welles,  cheerfully.  "  I  can't  say  I've  got 
much  notion  of  towns  and  sech  like  my- 
self. I'm  mostly  country -raised  in  my 
ways." 

Which  Brantz  Elliot,  looking  at  his 
gaunt  old  host  in  his  homespun,  regarded 
as  a  just  statement. 

"  So  am  I,"  he  said.  "  Shall  we  have 
a  tramp,  to-day  ?" 

"  I'm  ruther  afeerd  I  can't  go  with  you 
this  mornin',  friend,"  the  Daddy  respond- 
ed. "  I've  got  to  ride  over  to  Piedmont 
to  see  the  land-sharks  on  some  business. 
That's  what  we  call  tlte  1'yers." 

"  The  lawyers,  eh  ?" 

"The  same.  The  court  people  grind 
us  poor  folks  every  chance  they  git.  But 
I  s'pose  they  have  to  live,  like  the  rest  of 
us,"  added  the  Daddy,  philosophically. 

He  then  mounted  his  raw -honed  old 
charger  and  set  out  for  Jfiedmoiit,  when,' 
he  really  did  seem  to  have  important  busi- 
ness— cither  there  or  elsewhere — for  he 
did  not  return  until  the  evening  of  the 
next  day.  Mr.  Harney  Jones,  on  a  h<T><> 
as  much  of  a  scarecrow  as  himself,  had 
parted  with  him  at  the  foot  of  the  path, 
and  r'uhlen  on  to  his  own  home  farther 
up  the  valley. 


: 


VIRGINIA    BOHEMIANS. 


XXIII. 


NELL  Y. 


"NELLY!"    said   Mr.  I'.rant/,  Elliot,  on 

this  morning,  patting  the  head  of  <>ne  of 
tlio  dogs  who  sprung  up  to  he  caressed. 
He  tunu'd  his  head  and  looked  into  the 

house. 

"SirT  said  a  voice. 

"There  it  is  again,  —  eternally  sirT 
said  the  young  man,  laughing.  "  You  will 
ne\i-r  break  yourself  of  that  stiff  mono- 
syllable, Nelly  !" 

Nelly  had  come  out  to  the  door ;  she 
was  smiling  a  little,  and  blushing  a  good 
deal.  In  her  linsey  dress,  secured  around 
her  slender  waist  by  the  cheap  black  belt, 
and  her  hair  falling  behind,  tied  with  a 
ribbon,  she  looked  attractive;  and  the 
smile  and  blush  did  not  interfere  with  the 
general  impression  which  she  produced. 

"  I  say,  you  will  not  drop  that  formal 
'sir,'  in  spite  of  all  I  can  say,"  Elliot 
added.  "  Xow  I  like  to  be  at  my  ease 
with  people,  and  have  them  at  their  ease 
with  me." 

"  Why,  what  am  I  to  say— sir?"  Nelly 
replied. 

"  No,  you  are  not  to  say  sz>,  unless  it 
is  necessary  to  your  personal  comfort  or 
convenience,  in  which  case  I  have  no  more 
to  say.  I  know  I  am  an  ancient  and  dig- 
nified sort  of  person,  and  ought  to  be 
treated  with  respect  by  a  child  like  you ; 
but  then*  it's  a  bore,  Nelly,  and,  if  it  goes 
on,  I\e  made  up  my  mind  what  I  will 
do.  I  will  address  you  as  Miss-  Welles" 

Nelly  laughed  at  this :  it  was  a  brief, 
shy  laugh,  but  not  a  rustic  giggle ;  very 
far  from  it.  There  really  was  very  little 
that  was  really  "  rustic  "  about  Nelly,  and 
Brantz  Elliot  had  not  heard  her  "  giggle" 
once  since  they  had  been  acquainted. 

"  I  meant  to  ask  you  if  you  would  go 
fishing  with  me,"  he  said.  "  It's  a  great 
bore  to  spend  a  whole  morning  by  one's 
self — there's  nobody  to  say  anything  to 
if  you  wish  to  talk.  I'm  not  much  in 
the  way  of  talk,  and  no  great  hand  at 
making  myself  agreeable  in  ladies'  society. 
In  fact,  I  don't  care  much  for  them  in 
general — but  you  are  an  exception  !" 


The  statement  in  reference  to  liim«-lf 
by  Mr.  I'.rantx  Klliot  \\as  perfeotl 
rect.  He  cared  little  or  nothing  for  the 
society  of  the  opposite  sex,  and  gave  them 
very  little  thought.  He,  had  admired 
them  now  and  then  after  a  lazy  sort  of 
fashion.  Sometimes  a  pretty  face  on  the 
Parisian  boulevards,  or  in  passing  equi- 
pages in  the  Bois  or  Cascine,  had  plea-ed 
him.  He  had  looked,  too,  with  indolent 
satisfaction  at  the  graceful  slips  of  girls 
promenading  Broadway  <>r  Fifth  Avenue 
in  the  afternoons,  with  taper  wai>t>,  niee- 
ly  arranged  curls,  and  dainty  feet  peeping 
out  from  their  painfully  pulled-back  skirts, 
as  the  gallant  policemen  escorted  them 
safely  through  the  tide  of  vehicles.  But 
they  were  scarcely  real  people  to  him. 
They  were  simply  a  gallery  of  pictures, 
all  these  feminine  faces  and  figures ;  and 
the  young  fellow  had  looked  at  them  as 
at  paintings — admiring  them  as  pi- 
objects,  but  forgetting  them  at  the  next 
moment.  lie  had  never  been  the  I--a-t 
bit  in  love  with  any  of  them.  In  fa<-t, 
what  pleased  him  about  Nelly  Welles  was 
the  fact  that  she  was  not  at  all  like  them. 

It  was  a  little  unceremonious,  perhaps 
in  him  to  address  the  girl  as  "  Nelly  " — 
but  then  there  were  reasons  for  that, 
They  had  been  thrown  together  hourly 
for  nearly  a  whole  month;  and  when  we 
associate  with  persons  familiarly  for  that 
length  of  time,  they  become  friends — if 
they  do  not  become  enemies.  Then  ev- 
erybody called  her  "  Nelly,"  and  almost 
unconsciously  Brantz  Elliot  had  come  to 
do  so,  too.  A  last  explanation  was  the 
fact  that  Nelly  Welles  was  very  young 
for  her  age,  which  was  about  seventeen. 
Some  girls  of  seventeen  are  children,  and 
others  women.  Nelly  was  a  mixture  of 
the  two,  but  more  of  the  first.  She  had 
the  shyness  and  simplicity  of  girlhood — 
nothing  of  womanhood  at  all,  in  fact,  but 
a  certain  sweet  seriousness  attimo  which 
strongly  attracted  him.  The  wonder  was 
where  she  had  acquired  that  expression 
of  countenance  and  her  real  refinement. 
There  was  very  little  in  her  MUTOUndingB 
to  account  for  it.  Daddy  Welles  and  his 
motherly  helpmate  were  excellent  people, 


68 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


but  then  they  were  not  what  is  called 
high-bred.  Nelly  was  really  high-bred,  in 
spite  of  her  poor  dress  and  all  about  her. 
She  was  a  little  awkward,  but  that  evi- 
dently arose  from  youth  and  inexperience. 
She  had  none  of  the  "ways"  of  rustic 
belles,  who  look  side;vise  at  you  and  de- 
ploy their  unpleasant  wiles.  She  was 
very  quiet,  and  even  dignified.  Her  mind 
was  almost  a  blank,  indeed,  as  to  educa- 
tion— a  tabula  rasa  nearly,  Brantz  Elliot 
said  to  himself,  but  then  she,  too,  seemed 
to  know  that,  and  to  quietly  Jament  it. 

As  to  Nelly's  personal  appearance,  she 
was  certainly  pretty.  This  fact  had  grad- 
ually dawned  on  Brantz  Elliot,  who  was 
not  curious  in  such  matters.  But  youth 
is  youth,  after  all.  A  young  fellow  may 
like  to  rise  at  daylight,  and  go  and  hunt 
deer,  far  better  than  to  whirl  in  the  waltz 
or  German  at  the  same  hour  with  an  arm- 
ful of  satin  in  his  grasp.  He  may  care 
very  little  for  the  smiles  and  wiles  of  such 
chance  partners,  in  chance  moments,  when 
the  object  of  each  is  only  amusement. 
But  there  is  always  a  heart  somewhere  in 
a  young  man's  breast.  It  thus  happened 
that  Drantz  Elliot  had  begun  to  follow 
Nelly  "Welles  about  with  his  eyes.  She 
really  was  very  pretty,  he  said  to  himself. 
Hi T  figure  in  its  linsey  drew  his  attention, 
and  was  more  graceful  to  him  than  the 
satin-encased  corsages  of  the  beauties  he 
•  •n  in  cities.  There  was  something 
in  her  dark  eyes,  and  hair  gathered  be- 
hind and  tied  with  the  cheap  ribbon, which 
pleased  him.  Sometimes  he  realized  that 
fact,  and  it  made  him  laugh.  Was  he  go- 
in^  to  fall  in  love  with  the  "  mountain 

B 

maid?-''  The  idea  struck  him  as  rather 
absurd.  To  be  in  love  with  a  girl  meant 
to  wish  to  tell  her  so,  and  to  ask  her  to 
marry  him.  Now,  to  a-k  Nelly  Welles  to 
become  Mrs.Brantz  Elliot  was  a  wild  idea. 
Daddy  Welles  would  not  do  in  the  lea^t 
for  a  father-in-law.  Such  a  paterfamilias 
would  create  a  sensation  in  Fifth  Avenue 
drawing-rooms.  He  might  bring  his  long 
rifle  with  him  and  shoot  somebody  ! — 
Having  permitted  his  thoughts  to  roam 
idly  in  this  fanciful  direction,  Elliot  ended 
by  laughing  quietly  and  dismissing  the 


whole  subject  as  a  chance  vagary  of  the 
brain,  engendered  by  idleness.  He  did 
not  go  away,  however ;  either  Nelly  or 
the  delights  of  deer-hunting  detained  him. 
And  as  there  really  was  nothing  of  much 
importance  to  take  him  back  to  New 
York,  he  thought  he  would  stay  a  little 
longer. 

Nelly  had  gone  fishing  with  him  in  the 
stream  which  ran  through  the  narrow 
valley  at  the  foot  of  the  mountain  more 
than  once.  This  had  been  in  consequence 
of  his  solicitation.  Brantz  Elliot  had  the 
tastes  of  a  sportsman,  but  not  those  of 
a  recluse.  He  liked  company.  Daddy 
Welles  was  generally  engaged,  and  could 
only  spare  time  now  and  then  for  a  good 
tramp  after  deer:  in  the  idle  divertisc- 
ment  of  rambling  along  the  stream  and 
fishing  in  the  bright  autumn  days,  his  as- 
sociate had  thus  come  to  be  Nelly.  They 
got  on  very  well  with  each  other,  lie 
could  talk  in  a  friendly  way  —  she  was 
company.  She  did  not  take  much  part 
in  the  conversation.  Her  shyness  had 
worn  off,  in  a  measure,  and  she  was  mucli 
more  at  her  ease  with  him  ;  but  she  was 
still  diffident,  and  apparently  ashamed  oi 
her  ignorance. 

Having  further  urged,  on  this  bright 
morning,  his  desire  for  company,  Brantz 
Elliot  succeeded  in  persuading  Nelly  to 
go  fishing  witli  him,  and  they  set  out  to- 
gether down  the  path  toward  the  stream. 
Nelly  had  a  brown  chip  hat,  of  very  plain 
material,  on  her  head,  and  had  thrown  an 
old  cape  around  her  shoulders.  Her  shoes 
and  stockings  were  coarse,  but  she  walked 
with  a  grace  which  attracted  the  admiring 
glances  of  her  companion. 

"Nelly/'  he  >aid,  "I  have  meant  for 
some  time  to  ask  you  a  question,  only  I 
was  afraid  you  would  consider  it  rather 
impertinent.  May  I  ask  it  ?" 

She  turned  her  head  and  looked  at 
him  rather  shyly,  but  smiling,  and  said 
"Y. 

"Well,  it's  this.  How  in  the  world 
did  you  ever  come  to  be  born  here  in  this 
mountain  '" 

"  In  the  mountain  I  Why  shouldn't  I 
be  born  here,  sir  ?" 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


O'J 


"There  is  that  hateful  .svV  a^ain  !  I 
wish  you  would  drop  it." 

"I  will  try,  but  I  don't,  think  I  can." 

"Well,  at  least  try.  It's  really  like  a 
bucket  of  cold  water!  If  we  ;uv  ever 
u'oinu;  to  become  acquainted  \ve  ought  to 
be  now.  It  makes  me  feel  as  if  I  was 
eighty  and  you  \vere  eight — I  am  only 
tweiity-tive,  and  you  must  be  at  least 
double  eight." 

"I  am  seventeen,"  said  Nellv. 

"  Well,  I  am  told  that  is  an  agreeable 
age;  I  thought  you  were  younger.  Have 
you  lived  all  your  life  in  the  mountain  ? 
That  seems  strange  to  me." 

"  Strange  !    Why  should  it  be  strange  ?" 

"Because  —  and  now  we  are  coming 
back  to  the  point — it  is  the  greatest  puz- 
zle to  me  to  understand  how — but  you 
will  think  I  am  ill-bred  if  I  say  what  I 
was  going  to  say." 

"  I  am  sure  I  will  not,"  Nelly  said. 

"  Well,  Til  go  on,  then.  I  meant  to 
say  that  you  are  a  lady,  from  head  to 
foot,  and  people  in  this  world  are  influ- 
enced in  their  appearance  and  character 
by  their  surroundings.  But  really  the 
thing  is  too  low,"  said  Brantz  Elliot,  as 
if  addressing  himself ;  "  I  can't  go  on." 

Nelly  blushed  quickly,  and  said, 

"I  know  what  you  mean;  but  I  am 
not  a  lady." 

"  I  swear  you  are  ! — excuse  me,  Nelly." 

"  I  am  a  poor  girl  without  education — 
my  father  and  mother  are  poor  people. 
I  was  born  here  in  the  mountain,  and  I 
will  live  and  die  without  going  any- 
where— " 

A  chord  had  evidently  been  touched 
which  Brantz  Elliot  had  never  even  sus- 
pected. Nelly's  bosom  heaved. 

"  I  am  not  a  lady !"  she  said,  with  a 
quick  sob.  "  How  can  I  be  ?  How 
could  I  be  anything  but  what  I  am  ?  I 
never  had  any  education,  and  nothing  will 
ever  change  my  life  here !  If  I  had  not 
had  a  few  old  books,  and  learned  what  I 
could,  I  would  not  know  how  to  read  or 
write.  Oh,  it  is  so  hard !  I  am  nearly 
grown  up,  and  I  am  so  ignorant !  I  don't 
know  what  to  do  sometimes  when  I  think 
of  it !" 


The    words    wen    uttered    in    a    voice 
which  went  to  Brant/  Elliot's  heart. 

"  Why  were  you  never  taught  f '  In-  said. 

"I  don't  know/'  Nelly aobbed;" there's 

a  free  school,  but  it  is  at  1'irdmont,  and 
I  \\as  ashamed  to  go  with  the  children. 
Father  is  as  good  to  me  as  ho  can  be, 
but  he  thinks  very  little  of  books,  and 
says  I  can  teach  myself.  But  I  never 
will  be  able  to!" 

Xelly  turned  her  head  to  one  side  ami 
indulged  in  a  quiet  cry,  which  seemed  to 
relieve  her,  as  she  became  calmer  and  said 
no  more.  As  to  Brantz  Elliot,  he  seemed 
to  be  completely  at  a  loss  what  to  say, 
The  girl's  voice,  full  of  passional . 
ness,  had  strongly  affected  him.  Not  find- 
ing any  reply  to  make  at  the  moment  ho 
walked  on  in  silence.  At  length  he  said, 

"It  is  a  pity — a  very  great  pity,  in- 
deed." 

Nelly  did  not  reply  for  a  few  minutes ; 
she  then  said,  in  a  low  voice, 

"I  did  not  mean  that  I  was  real  I  v  dis- 
contented or  not  happy.  I  have  • 
deal  to  be  thankful  for,  and  I  would  not 
care  to  leave  home  for  pleasure ;  but  I 
can't  help  wishing  sometimes  that  I  was 
not  shut  up  here  in  the  mountains  all  my 
life.  All  I  wish  is  that  I  could  improve 
myself,  and  have  books  to  read,  and  not 
live  and  die  so  ignorant  of  everything." 

Brantz  Elliot  looked  into  her  face  and 
said,  after  a  moment, 

"You  will  be  married  some  of  these 
days,  then  you  will  go  away." 

At  this  Nelly  shook  her  head. 

"  I  would  not  like  to  be  married  to 
anybody." 

He  had  begun  to  take  a  strong  iir 
in  analyzing  the  girl's  thoughts  and  mo- 
tives now,  and  said, 

"You  mean  that  you  don't  intend  to 
marry  one  of  the  rough  young  mountain- 
eers here — and  you  are  right." 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  marry  anybody," 
Nelly  said,  quietly.  "  I  ought  not  to 
have  talked  so  much  about  myself,  but  it 
is  very  hard  to  think  of  living  all  my  life 
as  ignorant  as  I  am.  I  ought  not  to  have 
learned  to  read.  It  has  only  made  me 
unhappy." 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


XXIV. 

UNDINE. 

NELLY  plainly  wished  to  change  the 
topic,  and  Brantz  Elliot  said  no  more, 
but  he  remembered  this  conversation  for 
a  long  time.  The  occupation  of  fishing 
afforded  a  diversion,  and  to  this  they  pro- 
ceeded. 

Falling  Water,  as  the  small  stream  was 
called,  was  a  picturesque  watercourse, 
well  stocked  with  bass,  of  which  the 
Shenandoah  is  full.  It  ran  between 
grassy  banks,  widening  here  and  there 
over  sandy  bottoms,  and  at  other  points 
narrowing  between  cedar  -  fringed  bluffs. 
A  skirt  of  evergreens  defined  its  outline 
through  the  little  valley,  and  with  these 
were  mingled  some  large  sycamores  with 
huge  hollow  trunks  and  mottled  arms, 
drooping  in  many  places  far  out  over  the 
current,  washing  beneath  the  gnarled  roots 
shaded  with  green  water-flags.  Along  the 
grassy  banks  ran  a  wrell- defined  path, 
made,  no  doul>t,  by  cattle.  Here  and  there 
a  mossy  rock  jutted  out  above  the  current. 
On  these  rocks  Brantz  Elliot  and  Nelly 
Welles  took  their  stand  and  began  to 
fish. 

They  had  very  bad  luck.  This  fact 
was  due  to  heavy  rains  a  day  or  two  be- 
fore, which  had  swollen  the  stream  and 
made  the  water  muddy.  Such  a  condi- 
tion of  things  is  unfavorable  to  the  pur- 
suits of  the  angler.  After  an  hour's  fish- 
ing they  had  caught  nothing,  and  J Irani/ 
Elliot  proposed  that  they  should  go  far- 
th<T  up  the  stream.  Nelly  absented,  and 
they  went  along  the  bank  until  they  reach- 
ed a  point  where  the  current  grew  narrow 
and  rushed  swiftly  between  two  blufTs.  A 
felled  tree,  used  as  a  bridge,  reached  from 
bank  to  bank;  and  thinking  that  the 
ground  on  the  other  side  would  prove 
more  favorable  for  throwing  the  lines, 
they  ventured  cautiously  on  the  log- 
l>ridge,  which  seemed  rather  insecure. 
It  was  more  so  than  they  supposed. 
Ju>t  as  they  reached  the  middle  it  ga?6 
way,  and  they  fell  into  the  water. 

llrantz  Elliot  fell  so  suddenly  that  he 
went  completely  under.  When  he  rose 


to  the  surface,  he  saw  that  Nelly  had 
been  swept  off  by  the  rapid  current, 
which  was  bearing  her  along  like  a  leaf. 
Elliot  was  an  excellent  swimmer.  In 
half  a  dpzen  strokes  lie  reached  the  girl, 
and  taking  one  of  her  hands,  placed  it 
upon  his  shoulder.  She  made  no  effort 
to  grasp  him,  as  drowning  persons  fre- 
quently do,  and  he  struck  out  vigorously 
toward  the  bank.  The  current  was,  how- 
ever, even  stronger  than  he  had  sup- 
posed, and,  more  unfortunate  than  all, 
Nelly's  clothing,  especially  her  cape,  be- 
came heavily  clogged  with  water.  Elliot 
felt  the  weight  on  his  shoulder  increas- 
ing every  moment ;  and  seeing  the  fatal 
cape  wrapping  its  wet  folds  more  and 
more  closely  around  the  girl,  he  endeav- 
ored to  tear  it  away  from  her.  The  ef- 
fort only  resulted  in  the  disappearance 
of  both  beneath  the  surface.  They  rose 
again,  but  Elliot  could  see  that  the  girl's 
strength  was  deserting  her.  His  own  was 
giving  way.  The  water  in  her  clothing 
and  his  own  made  the  weight  upon  him 
terrible.  With  a  sinking  heart  he  cal- 
culated the  probability  of  reaching  the 
shore.  It  seemed  slight.  The  current 
swept  them  along,  and  Nelly  became 
weaker  and  weaker.  With  half -closed 
eyes  she  leaned  more  and  more  heavily 
upon  him,  but  even  then  did  not  attempt 
to  grasp  him.  Looking  at  her  pale  face, 
Elliot  groaned.  What  could  he  do  1  In 
a  few  moments  at  most  they  would  prob- 
ably sink  for  the  last  time.  The  thought 
passed  through  him  as  a  bullet  passes 
through  a  man's  breast. 

"  I  will  die  with  her !"  he  muttered. 

As  he  said  this  a  wave  passed  over 
them.  They  rose  once  more,  and  then 
something  struck  his  face.  This  was  a 
drooping  bough  of  one  of  the  sycamores 
growing  on  the  bank.  The  bough  ex- 
tended at  least  fifteen  feet  out  into  the 
stream,  and  Elliot  caught  it  with  die  hand, 
supporting  the  girl  with  his  left  arm. 

"Nelly!"  he  said. 

She  looked  at  him,  and  her  head  leaned 
toward  him  a-  a  child's  toward  a  protec- 
tor in  trouble.  She  was  smiling  faintly. 

"Do  you  think  you  can  hold  to  this 


YliailNIA   JiOlIl-MIANS. 


71 


bough  for  .1  few  minutes?     If  you  can, 
I'll  save  you." 
-  Yes,"  she  said. 

She  raised  her  arms,  caught  the  bough, 
and  eliuii;-  to  it.  Klliot  found  himself 
free,  and  forcing  his  hand  into  his  soaked 
pocket  dre\v  «>ut  his  knife,  opened  it  with 
his  teeth,  and  cut  the  string  of  the  cape, 
which  was  at  once  swept  away. 

"Hold  fast  now,  Nelly  !"  he  said,  "for 
a  minute  only.  There  is  but  one  way  of 
saving  you." 

Half  a  dozen  strokes  carried  him  to 
shore,  and  he  ran  to  a  large  wild  grape- 
vine near,  from  which  he  cut  a  long  vine. 
With  this  he  hastened  back  to  the  syca- 
more, climbed  up,  and,  followingthe  bough 
out  into  the  stream,  reached  the  spot  where 
Nelly  was  clinging  by  both  hands.  The 
water  was  up  to  her  shoulders,  and  her 
body  swayed  to  and  fro.  He  could  see 
that  she  was  nearly  exhausted,  but  the 
same  faint  smile  was  on  her  face  as  she 
looked  at  him— a  smile  whose  expression 
he  had  never  seen  before,  and  which  he 
always  remembered  afterward. 

"  Do  just  as  I  tell  you,  now,  Nelly,"  he 
said.  "  I  am  going  to  tie  this  grape-vine 
around  you,  and  bring  you  to  shore.  It 
is  the  only  way  to  save  you.  When  I 
say  *  Ready,'  let  the  bough  go,  and  trust 
to  me." 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

Elliot  passed  the  vine  around  her  under 
the  arms,  twisted  it  into  a  secure  knot, 
tested  the  knot,  and  said, 

"  Ready !" 

Without  an  instant's  hesitation  Nelly 
let  go. 

"  Hold  the  vine  tight,"  he  said. 

She  obeyed,  and  proceeding  slowly 
along  the  broad  bough,  Elliot  gradually 
drew  the  girl,  whose  head  just  emerged 
from  the  water,  to  the  shore.  She  was  so 
much  exhausted,  however,  that  it  was  im- 
possible for  her  to  ascend  the  steep  bank. 
Elliot  saw  this  at  a  glance,  and  wrapped 
the  vine  around  the  bough,  twisting  it  into 
a  knot.  He  then  swung  himself  to  the 
ground,  ran  down  the  bank,  and,  catching 
the  girl  in  his  arms,  carried  her  to  dry 
ground. 


"  Saved !  you  are  saved !"  he  cried, 
holding  her  in  his  arms,  and  smoothing 
her  dripping  hair  from  her  forehead. 
Her  arm  was  resting  upon  his  shoulder  in 
the  natural  picture  of  a  person  supported 
by  another.  It  was  almost  around  his 
neck,  and  her  cheek  was  near  his  own. 
Urantx  Klli«.t.  then  did  what  perhaps  he 
ought  not,  to  have  done,  but  he  did  it 
almost  unconsciously  :  he  kissed  the 
cheek. 

Nelly  blushed  to  the  roots  of  her  hair 
and  the  tips  of  her  ears,  and  turned  away 
her  head :  owing  to  the  fact  that  she  was 
in  the  young  man's  arms,  this  was  all  she 
could  do. 

"  Don't  mind  me,  Nelly !"  he  exclaim- 
ed, laughing  joyfully.  "  Your  face  was 
so  near  that  I  kissed  you  without  think- 
ing. You  mustn't  be  too  hard  on  a  fel- 
low !" 

He  wrung  the  water  as  well  as  he  could 
from  her  skirt  and  sleeves,  which  were 
drenched. 

"  Your  arms  and  hands  are  like  ice,"  he 
said.  "  That  is  from  nervous  exhaustion. 
Come  on,  and  make  haste  home !" 

He  looked  round  him,  and  for  the  first 
time  became  aware  of  a  fact  which  he 
had  quite  overlooked  in  his  excitement. 
The  sycamore  which  had  been  the  means 
of  saving  Nelly's  life  stood  on  the  west 
bank  of  the  stream.  There  was  the  cur- 
rent galloping  between  them  and  home, 
and  the  log  affording  the  means  of  cross- 
ing it  had  disappeared !  There  was  a 
bridge  on  the  stage-road  about  a  mile  be- 
low, but  that  would  make  their  walk  back 
at  least  two  miles ;  and  Nelly  was  trem- 
bling from  head  to  foot. 

"  You  have  a  nervous  chill !"  I>rantz 
Elliot  exclaimed.  "  You  never  could  wal k 
round  by  the  bridge.  And  then  1M  have 
to  carry  you  up  the  mountain  afterward, 
Nelly,  like  the  boy  that  carried  the  prin- 
cess he  was  to  marry  if  he  got  to  the  top 
with  her !" 

He  laughed  ruefully.  What  was  to  be 
done?  He  was  considering  the  matter 
when  two  persons  came  out  of  a  clump 
of  pines  near  them  and  walked  toward 
them. 


72 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


XXV. 

SOME    NEW    RESIDENTS    OF    BOHEMIA. 

THE  two  persons  were  a  gentleman  of 
forty -five  or  fifty,  clad  in  black,  and  a 
slim  girl  of  eighteen  or  nineteen,  with 
brown  hair,  blue  eyes,  and  a  light  shawl 
thrown  over  her  shoulders.  They  came 
to  the  spot  where  Elliot  and  his  compan- 
ion were  standing,  and  the  girl  exclaimed, 
addressing  Nelly, 

"  Why,  what  is  the  matter?  You  are 
drenched  from  head  to  foot ! — you  are 
trembling  all  over.  Did  you  fall  into  the 
water  ?" 

Nelly's  teeth  were  chattering  so  that 
she  was  unable  to  reply,  and  Elliot  replied 
for  her. 

"  Yes,  miss,"  he  said.  "  We  tried  to 
cross  on  a  log,  which  broke,  and  we  fell 
in,  and  were  nearly  drowned.  This  is 
Miss  Nelly  Welles,  and  my  name  is  Brantz 
Elliot.  I  am  from  New  York,  and  am 
staying  here." 

The  young  lady  bowed  in  reply  to  this 
straightforward  introduction  of  himself 
and  Nelly,  but  at  once  concentrated  her 
attention  upon  the  latter.  She  had  taken 
Nelly's  hands  in  her  own,  and  now  ex- 
claimed, 

"  Your  hands  are  almost  frozen  !    How 

cold  you  are,  and  your  teeth  are  chatter- 

You  ought  to  go  home  at  once — 

but  it  is  too  far.     I  know  where  Daddy 

Welles  lives.     Come  home  with  us !" 

"  Wo  can  go  back  —  by  the  bridge," 
Nelly  murmured,  playing  the  castanets 
with  her  teeth.  She  really  did  seem  to 
be  about  to  have  a  nervous  chill. 

"  No,  indeed !  You  must  come  with 
us.  We  live  only  a  short  distance.  Is 
this  Nolly  Welles?  I  have  heard  of  you, 
Nelly,  and  am  very  glad  to  make  your 
acquaintance.  Wo  wen?  walking  out.  I 
am  so  glad  we  met  you !" 

There  was  something  delightfully  frank 
ami  affectionate  in  the  girl's  voice,  and 
her  companion,  the  gentleman  in  black, 
added  his  word,  in  a  voice  of  mild  cour- 
tesy. 

"Your  young  friend  ought  to  change 
her  clothing  at  once,  sir,"  he  said  to  Elliot. 


"  My  name  is  Gary,  and  I  live  almost  in 
sight." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  papa !  Make  her  come," 
said  the  tall  girl. 

And  as  Nelly  had  no  means  of  resist- 
ing, she  yielded,  and  they  all  walked  up 
the  hill  through  the  evergreens.  The 
path  wound  downward  on  the  other  side 
and  entered  a  meadow.  Beyond,  on  a 
rising  ground,  was  an  old-fashioned  coun- 
try -  house  of  moderate  size,  standing  in 
the  midst  of  a  lawn  dotted  with  locusts 
and  Lombardy  poplars,  a  favorite  tree 
with  the  old-time  Virginians.  The  house 
was  ancient  and  built  of  stone,  covered 
with  brown  stucco.  In  front  was  a  small 
porch  reached  by  a  circular  carriage-drive. 
Here  and  there  in  the  grounds  rose  white 
trellises,  which  seemed  to  indicate  a  love 
of  flowers  in  the  master  or  mistress  of 
the  mansion.  The  general  appearance 
of  things  suggested  plain  comfort  rather 
than  ample  means — an  idea  of  tranquil- 
lity and  home. 

The  slim  young  lady,  who  had  intro- 
duced herself  to  Nelly  as  Frances  Gary, 
at  once  disappeared  up-stairs  with  her 
drenched  companion,  and  Mr.  Gary  con- 
ducted Brantz  Elliot  into  a  room  on  the 
left  of  the  entrance,  which  seemed  to  do 
duty  as  drawing-room  and  library  com- 
bined. There  were  two  or  three  book- 
cases filled  with  volumes,  and  some  old 
pictures  on  the  wall.  In  the  centre  stood 
a  writing-table  covered  with  books  and 
papers  —  among  the  latter,  some  upon 
which  the  owner  of  the  house  seemed  to 
have  been  engaged,  as  a  pen  was  lying 
upon  them.  Two  large  arm-chairs  cover- 
ed with  brown  leather  stood  on  each  side 
of  the  table,  and  were  apparently  heir- 
loniii-4.  The  apartment  was  in  keeping 
with  these  antiquated  pieces  of  furniture. 
Above  the  tall  mantel-piece  the  wall  was 
wainscoted  in  panels,  and  the  whole  ap- 
pearance of  things  was  antique.  Some 
of  the  first  settlers  who  m^sed  the  Blue 
lii«l-_T'1  in  the  last  century  had  probably 
built  this  house. 

A-  his  ln»t  had  bog^-d  Elliot  to  excuse 
him  for  a  moment,  and  had  left  the  room, 
the  young  man  had  a  good  opportunity 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


73 


t«>  look  around  him.  It  was  quite  plain,' 
from  the  appearance  of  the  apartment, 
that  Mr.  Gary  was  a  man  of  literary  tastes, 
and  lived  quietly  among  his  hooks.  An 
atmosphere  of  the  past  seemed  to  pervade 
the  room  —  there  was  only  one  object 
which  looked  fresh  and  modern;  this 
was  a  portrait  of  cabinet  size,  over  the 
mantel-piece,  representing  a  girl  of  about 
eighteen,  with  her  hair  in  bands  on  the 
temples,  and  secured  by  a  bow  of  ribbon 
behind.  In  the  face  of  the  picture  there 
was  an  exquisite  sweetness  and  modesty. 
The  lips  were  virginal,  and  smiled.  It 
was  possible  that  this  was  the  portrait  of 
Miss  Frances  Gary,  as  it  was  an  excellent  j 
likeness  of  her;  but  the  hair  was  worn 
in  a  different  manner. 

Hrantz  Elliot  was  looking  at  it  when 
Mr.  Gary  came  back. 

"I  have  just  seen  my  daughter,"  Mr. 
Gary  said;  "and  Miss  Nelly  will  be  able 
to  come  down  to  dinner,  Mr.  Elliot.  If 
she  wishes  to  return  home  this  evening  I 
will  send  her  in  the  carriage." 

They  fell  into  conversation,  and  at 
length  an  old  servant  appeared  and  an- 
nounced that  dinner  was  served.  Mr. 
Gary  led  the  way  into  the  opposite  room, 
and  there  stood  Miss  Frances  Gary  and 
another  person  awaiting  them.  The  tall 
young  beauty  looked  at  Mr.  Brantz  Elliot 
with  a  smile  and  an  expression  of  curios- 
ity—  she  was  evidently  expecting  some- 
thing. Suddenly  she  laughed — the  some- 
thing had  happened.  Brantz  Elliot  had 
taken  three  steps  into  the  room  when  he 
stopped.  He  was  looking  at  the  figure 
beside  Miss  Frances  Gary. 

This  figure  was  that  of  a  young  lady 
in  a  dress  of  light-blue  silk,  with  a  fringe 
of  lace  around  the  neck,  and  a  train.  The 
dress  was  cut  in  the  pull-back  fashion  of 
the  time,  and,  therefore,  exhibited  the 
whole  contour  of  the  wearer's  person. 
Small  black  morocco  slippers,  decorated 
with  ribbon  knots,  appeared  under  the  ele- 
gantly trimmed  skirt ;  lace  cuffs  emerged 
from  the  falling  sleeves,  and  the  young 
lady's  dark  hair  was  elaborately  dressed 
in  curls  on  the  temples,  with  a  string  of 
pearls  interwoven.  The  explanation  of '. 


all  this  was  that,  as  her  own  clothe^  \\i-re 

dreliehed,   Nelly    Welles    had    beell    <i 

up  by  Miss  Frances  ('ary  in  a  suit  of  l,,.r 
own — the  best  she  had  —  and  was  now 
exhibited  in  triumph  by  her  hostess. 

"  I  thought  von  would  be  surprised, 
sir!"  Miss  Frances  Cary  said  to  Klliot, 
laughing.  "  Nelly  has  on  one  of  my 
dresses,  and  it  fits  her  to  perfection, 
though  I  am  taller  than  she  is." 

"It  certainly  docs,"  Elliot  said,  lie 
looked  at  Nelly  with  admiring  eves.  The 
magic  of  dress  had  made  her  what  he  had 
said  she  was — a  lady  from  head  to  foot. 
There  was  nothing  in  her  air  to  detract 
from  this ;  no  gaucheric  at  all.  She 
wore  her  elegant  costume  with  the  air 
of  a  person  who  had  never  put  on  linsey 
in  her  life,  and  the  small  feet  in  the  mo- 
rocco slippers  seemed  to  have  found  the 
covering  suited  to  them. 

O 

"By  George!"  said  Elliot  to  himself, 
"  who  would  ever  have  thought  that  dress 
would  make  such  a  difference  in  a  girl ! 
And  yet  there  is  really  no  difference." 

"  I  have  neglected  my  own  toilet  from 
want  of  time,  gentlemen,"  Miss  Frances 
Cary  said,  with  a  courtesy ;  "  but  I  hope 
you  acknowledge  that  Nelly  is  a  beau- 
ty!" 

Mr.  Cary  smiled  and  said, 

"  Certainly,  and  you  seem  to  be  be- 
coming great  friends." 

"  Friends,  papa !  —  why  not?  Nelly's 
coming  to  see  me.  Mercy  !  do  you  think 
girls  are  as  stiff  as  you  lords  of  creation  ? 
Indeed,  we  are  not.  "NVc  become  ac- 
quainted before  you  great  people  have 
finished  shaking  hands !" 

Everybody  then  sat  down,  and  dinner 
went  upon  its  way,  ended,  and  Mr.  Gary 
and  Elliot  returned  to  the  library,  the 
young  ladies  going  up-stairs  again.  The 
carriage  had  been  ordered  to  be  ready  in 
an  hour. 

They  entered  into  conversation,  and  he 
found  Mr.  Gary  a  quiet,  friendly  person, 
who  made  an  agreeable  impression  by 
his  air  of  simplicity  and  courtesy.  There- 
was  absolutely  nothing  of  the  soldier 
about  him,  and  yet  Elliot  knew,  from 
what  Daddy  Welles  had  told  him,  that  his 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


host  had  passed  through  four  years  of  ter- 
rible campaigning  and  all  the  battles  of 
Virginia.  This  interested  him  ;  and  see- 
ing on  the  wall  an  engraving  of  a  Con- 
federate Hag  rising  through  a  belt  of 
clouds,  with  stars  in  the  background,  and 
a  low  moon  on  the  horizon  beneath,  he 
said, 

"  That  picture,  no  doubt,  brings  back 
old  times,  Colonel  Cary — I  mean  the  war 
times ;  and  that  reminds  me  that  I  ought 
to  make  you  an  apology  for  not  address- 
ing you  by  your  military  title." 

Mr.  Cary  shook  his  head  and  said, 

"  I  much  prefer  to  be  addressed  as 
plain  Mr.  The  war  is  a  sad  subject,  and 
I  like  to  forget  it.  I  do  not  mean  that 
it  is  sad  otherwise  than  from  sorrowful 
recollections  connected  with  it.  I  should 
never  have  taken  part  in  it  if  I  had  not 
regarded  it  as  a  just  war — the  resistance 
of  the  South  to  political  oppression.  But 
I  do  not  recall  it  with  pleasure,  and  prefer 
not  being  addressed  by  my  military  title, 
which  brings  it  back  to  my  mind.  You 
are  from  New  York,  Mr.  Elliot  ?" 

This  question  was  plainly  meant  to  di- 
vert the  conversation  into  a  new  channel. 

"  I  am  from  everywhere  and  nowhere — 
but  New  York  is  my  native  State,"  Elliot 
said.  "  I  lit  like  a  bird  in  Broadway  last 
year,  but  I  have  been  flying  over  Europe. 
The  truth  is  Mr.  Cary,  I  am  a  rather 
good-for-nothing  sort  of  person.  I  am 
only  fit  for  a  life  in  the  woods.  Nothing 
wearies  me  like  streets,  and  what  people 
call  society." 

"That  is  not  a  proof  that  we  are  good- 
for-nothing,  I  h<»pc,"  his  host  said.  "I 
am  not  very  fond  of  society  myself.  In- 
deed it  wearies  me,  as  it  seems  to  do 
you." 

"  Weary  me!"  exclaimed  Hrantz  Elliot, 
"  It  prostrates  me,  and  drains  the  very  life 
out  of  me!  The  one  eternal  chatter,  chat- 
ter, chatter,  takes  away  my  senses.  I 
know  women  whose  tongues  run  like 
mill-clappers,  and  the  worst  of  it  is  they 
grind  in>  gri*t.  It  is  one  flow  of  froth — 
the  whipped  syllabub  of  talk  beginning 
and  ending  nowhere — an  eternity  of  gab- 
ble !" 


It  was  not  often  that  Brantz  Elliot 
rose  to  the  height  of  denunciation.  He 
was  a  quiet  and  good-natured  young  fel- 
low, but  his  pet  dislike  made  him  elo- 
quent. 

"  I  would  much  rather  split  rails  than 
listen  to  it,"  he  added. 

"  Well,  I  think  our  views  agree  tolera- 
bly well  on  that  subject,"  Mr.  Gary  said, 
quietly  ;  "  but  we  find,  as  we  go  on  in  life, 
that  we  have  to  endure  a  great  many 
things." 

"  I  will  never  learn  to  endure  gabble," 
Elliot  said.  "  I  am  twenty-five,  and  it  is 
harder  to  stand  than  when  I  was  fifteen." 

"  Twenty -five  is  not  very  old  ;  life  is  in 
the  bloom  at  that  age.  I  am  nearly  fifty, 
and  the  leaves  begin  to  drop  then." 

"At  fifty?"  said  Elliot.  "I  think  a 
man  is  only  in  his  full  vigor  at  fifty." 

"The  mind  may  be,"  Mr.  Cary  replied, 
"and  the  body,  too,  perhaps,  sometimes; 
but  our  illusions  begin  to  leave  us,  which 
is  a  great  misfortune.  Life  is  like  :\ 
coach;  the  springs  may  not  break  all 
at  once,  -but  they  lose  their  elasticity. 
When  the  coach  is  new,  it  is  elastic  as 
well  as  strong,  and  will  bear  a  great  deal 
of  wear  and  tear.  As  time  passes,  it  loses 
its  stamina  as  well  as  its  gloss.  It  still 
keeps  the  road,  perhaps,  but  some  day  it 
breaks  down  suddenly,  and  is  consigned 
to  the  dust  of  the  coach-house.  Dust  to 
dust,  you  know,  Mr.  Elliot." 

Mr.  Cary  paused  for  a  moment,  and 
then  added : 

"  This  may  seem  melancholy  talk ;  but, 
after  all,  is  not  life  a  melancholy  affair? 
<  >M  age  comes  soon  enough,  and  happy 
is  the  man  who  does  not  linger  out  his 
last  years/' 

Elliot  listened  in  silence.  The  reason- 
ing of  his  host  imposed  a  certain  gloom 
on  his  volatile  nature. 

"But  would  any  one  agree  to  have  his 
life  end  because  he  is  no  longer  young?" 
he  said  "1  doubt  it." 

"  I  am  sure  you  would  find  very  few 
who  would  agree  to  that.  P>ut  the  fact 
remains  that  old  age  is  sad  when  the  days 
pa--  with  a  dull  pain  at.  the  heart,  which 
is  often  the  case.  Death  is  better — and 


VI1UJINI.V    BOHEMIANS. 


yet  that  will  not  conic  sometimes.  The 
pulses  u'o  on  beating, slowly  and  faintly, 
but  they  will  not  stop.  I  >id  you  ever 
consult  a  liiographiral  I  >ictionary  to  find 
tin1  date  of  some  celebrity's  death. ;  You 
say  to  yourself,  '  In  such  a  year  he  made 
his  vjvat  speech,  or  published  his  great 
hook;  half  a  century  ago  he  was  al- 
ready famous — so  lie  must  have  died 
maiiv  years  since.'  And  then  you  look 
into  your  dictionary,  and  find  that  he  is 
still  living!  He  is  not  dead — only  for- 
gotten! not  his  fame  only,  but  his  very 
name.  It  was  in  every  mouth  once,  and 
the  world  hailed  him  as  one  of  the 
tblouissemcns,  as  the  French  say,  of  the 
.age.  Now  no  one  even  remembers  him 
— and  yet  he  is  living  still.  Living! — 
but  how?  Eoclesiastes  will  tell  you: 
"With  his  head  bowed  down,  and  his 
trembling.  He  was  a  giant  once, 
and  carried  the  world  on  his  shoulders. 
Now  the  very  grasshopper  is  a  burden  to 
him  :" 

The  firm  voice  uttering  steadily  this 
sorrowful  philosophy  of  life  ceased.  El- 
liot struggled  against  it  in  vain. 

"Well,"  he  said  at  length,  "I  suppose 
all  that  is  true,  Mr.  Gary ;  but  we  must 
take  things  as  they  come,  and  make  the 
best  of  them." 

"  Certainly,"  said  his  host,  "  it  is  well 
to  make  the  best  of  things ;  and,  after  all, 
there  is  something  worse  than  old  age — 
it  is  the  loneliness  that  comes  to  men  at 
any  and  all  ages." 

Did  the  speaker  glance  toward  the  pict- 
ure over  the  mantel-piece  ? 

"  I  must  apologize,  Mr.  Elliot,  for  in- 
flicting such  a  melancholy  lecture  upon 
you,"  he  said.  "  There  are  a  great  many 
pleasant  things  in  life — to  those  who  can 
enjoy  them.  One  of  them  is  your  pur- 
suit of  hunting,  to  which  you  alluded. 
I  am  not  myself  much  of  a  hunter,  which 
springs,  no  doubt,  from  the  fact  that  I  am 
physically  indolent.  I  am  very  much  of 
an  idler  and  dreamer,  which  may  strike 
you  as  singular  in  an  old  soldier ;  but  so 
it  is.  I  walk  or  ride  with  my  daughter 
frequently  ;  afterward  my  resource  against 
ennui  is  here  in  my  library." 


"I    was    looking   at,    the    !»..,, UN — they 
to  be  of  every  drxmptii.n." 

"  Yes,  1  ivad  at  random.  My  ta^te  is 
for  miscellany,  old  and  ne\v;  1  read  my 
favorites  o\er  and  over,  even  the  old 
novels." 

"Then  you  don't  like  the  novels  of  the 
day?" 

"  I  confess  I  do  not — as  much  as  other 
persons  seem  to.  We  have  nothing  no\\ 
but  analysis  and  realism,  and  the  fashion- 
able atmosphere  is  what  a  painter  would 
call  gray.  1  like  neutral  tints  where  the 
subject  demands  them.  I  can't  say  1  like 
them  in  every  case.  There  are  other  tints 
that  have  their  raison  d'etre  in  art,  as  well 
as  gray.  But  we  are  growing  literary. 
You  must  excuse  me  —  I  am  a  mere 
bookman.  Do  you  like  Virginia?" 

"I  like  it  very  much.  It  is  a  friendly 
sort  of  country." 

"  That  is  a  compliment,  and  I  take  my 
little  part  in  it.  I  shall  be  very  glad  if 
you  will  come  and  see  me,  Mr.  Elliot.  I 
seldom  visit  myself,  but  am  truly  glad  to 
sec  my  friends." 

The  carriage  drove  to  the  door  as  Mr. 
Gary  was  speaking,  and  a  few  moments 
afterward  Frances  Gary  and  Nelly  Welles 
came  down-stairs  into  the  library.  Nelly 
had  taken  off  her  friend's  silk  dress,  but 
put  on  another  of  a  plainer  description, 
in  which  she  presented  a  very  neat  and 
attractive  appearance.  A  maid* servant 
had  brought  down  a  small  travelling-va- 
lise in  which  Nelly's  damp  clothes  were 
packed,  and  this  was  taken  out  to ,  the 
carriage. 

Elliot  and  Nelly  then  took  leave  of 
their  host  and  hostess,  and  got  into  the 
carriage,  which  was  a  plain  family  (.Mini- 
page,  driven  by  an  old  servant. 

"  Be  sure  you  keep  your  promis* 
ly,"  said  the  young  hostess,  "  and  come 
and    see    me.       I    shall    conn?    and    tee 
you." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  I  will  come,"  Nelh 
as  the  door  of  the  carriage  was  shut.     It 
was  then  about  to  drive  away  when  Miss 
Frances  Gary  uttered  a  piercing  cry.     Ev- 
erybody started. 

"  Mercy  !    I've   not   kissed   you !"   ex- 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


claimed  the  young  lady,  rushing  wildly 
to  the  carriage  window. 

A  fervent  embrace  followed,  and  then 
the  vehicle  went  upon  its  way. 


XXVI. 

THE    CATAMOUNTAIX. 

FOR  some  days  after  the  accident  on 
the  stream,  Brantz  Elliot  seemed  to  have 
something  upon  his  mind.  He  would 
ramble  away  into  the  woods,  and,  instead 
of  hunting,  sit  down  and  fall  into  fits  of 
musing.  Was  he  thinking  of  the  kiss 
he  had  pressed  upon  Nelly's  cheek  as 
they  came  up  out  of  the  water  ?  Such 
things  return  to  the  memory  when  we 
are  twenty-five.  He  remembered  every- 
thing very  clearly,  and  could  feel  the 
girl's  heart  beating  against  his  own 
again. 

He  continued  to  be  haunted  by  recol- 
lections of  his  adventure,  until  one  day 
every  other  thought  disappeared  from  his 
mind  but  one.  Daddy  Welles  announced 
that  the  catamount  had  been  seen  again ; 
this  time  by  Barney  Jones,  whose  eyes 
were  much  too  keen  to  be  "  fooled  by  a 
common  wild -cat."  The  animal  was  a 
real  "  painter,"  or  "  catamounting,"  as 
the  Virginia  hunters  called  them.  He 
had  l»cen  seen  higher  up  in  the  Blue 
Ridge,  bat  now  he  had  got  to  Bohemia 
— there  was  no  doubt  about  it.  Barney 
Jones  had  -ecu  him  near  his  house  and 
shot  at  him,  but  mi—ed  him.* 


*  Even  if  unsupported  by  further  developments, 
there  would  be  no  rea.-on  to  doubt  the  accuracy 
of  Mr.  .Jones's  eyesight.  The  cougar,  panther,  or 
eatainoiint,  as  it  is  variously  called,  is  still  occa- 
sionally met  with  in  the  I'.lue  Ridge.  This  fact 
is  -liown  by  the  annexed  slip  fn>m  the  Culpeper 
(Va.)  Thin x,  in  the  autumn  of  1878:  "A  gn-at 
deal  of  excitement  has  recently  been  created  in 
the  neighborhood  of  Mount  Poney,  about  three 
miles  from  here.  It  is  reported  that  strange 
-embling  a  man  hallooing  in  distress, 
have  frequently  been  heard  of  late  on  the  moun- 
tain, but  nothing  had  been  seen  to  cause  any  fear 
among  the  inhabitants  until  last  Sunday,  when 
some  persons  who  were  on  the  mountain  saw  a 
wild  and  ferocious  looking  animal,  which,  it  was 


Hearing  this,  Brantz  Elliot  lost  sight 
of  all  else  in  the  world.  One  thing  only 
was  now  necessary  to  his  happiness — to 
go  on  a  panther-hunt.  He  had  grown  a 
little  tired  of  shooting  pheasants  and  wild 
turkeys,  and  even  deer-stalking  began  to 
lose  some  of  its  attractions.  What  we 
require  in  this  world  is  variety  and  con- 
trast. The  palate  inured  to  rich  sauces 
asks  something  richer  still ;  and  the  new 
sauce  which  Mr.  Brantz  Elliot  craved  was 
a  shot  at  a  real  catamount. 

"  We'll  try  him  in  the  morning,  Daddy 
Welles,"  he  exclaimed,  with  excitement  ; 
"and  if  you  won't  go,  I  will !  I  mean  to 
see  your  distinguished  stranger  and  have 
his  blood — that  is,  his  skin — to  take  back* 
to  New  York  with  me." 

Daddy  Welles  smiled  sweetly.  The 
ardor  of  his  guest  seemed  to  please  him.  ! 

"There  won't  be  any  trouble  about 
my  goin',"  he  said.  "I'm  most  as 
cur'ous  to  see  the  varmint  as  you  are. 
I'll  jest  send  Barney  Jones  word  to  be 
ready  by  daylight,  or  a  leetle  before,  and 
we'll  look  up  the  calf-eater." 

"He  eats  calves,  then  ?"  said  Elliot. 

"  To  be  sure,"  Daddy  Welles  respoi 
ed.  "  That  stands  to  reason,  as  a  wilt 
cat  will,  and  a  catamounting  is  a  sort 
wild-cat,  only  bigger  and  stronger.  This 
varmint  has  cleaned  'em  out,  they  tell  me, 
farther  up.  So  I'd  like  to  put  a  bullet 
in  him  myself  as  he  is  comin'  this  way."1 

Daddy  Welles  was  thus  evidently  in- 
tent on  the  hunt  from  a  business  view  of 
things  as  well  as  for  his  private  satisfac- 
tion, and  all  the  arrangements  were  made. 
Some  ragged  offspring  of  Mr.  K-irney 
Jones,  who  were  fishing  on  the  banks  cf 


thought,  had  been  making  the  terrifying:  demon- 
strations, and  which  is  supposed  to  be  a  panther. 
It  is  said  to  be  about  live  feet  in  length,  of  a  yel- 
low color,  and  very  large,  and  when  seen  was 
making  its  way  through  the  woods  toward  the 
top  of  the  mountain,  where  there  is  a  mass  of 
rocks  which  afford  it  a  hiding-place.  The  in- 
habitants of  that  section  are  very  much  alarmed 
at  the  sudden  appearance  of  this  carnivorous 
animal,  and  will  not  venture  outside  of  their 
hou-es  after  dark  in  consequence  of  it.  Sever- 
al yetn  ago  a  huge  catamount  was  killed  on  the 
same  mountain." 


VIRGINIA    r.olIKMIANS. 


the  stream  below,  were  told  to  notify 
their  parent  that  Paddy  \\Vlles  and  Mr. 
Elliot  would  be  at  his  house  l>y  daylight 
oil  the  next  morning  to  go  after  the  cata- 
mount ;  and  then  Elliot  went  to  bed,  and 
dreamed  tliat  he  was  engaged  in  a  bivaM- 
to-l»ivast  struggle  with  an  animal  of  huge 
proportions,  in  the  mid>t  of  \\hich  Daddy 
AYclles  tapped  at  his  door  and  informed 
him  that  it  was  time  to  be  moving.  They 
breakfasted  by  candle-light,  and  took  their 
arms — Paddy  Welles  his  long  ritle,  and 
Elliot  his  carbine.  Both  carried  hunt- 
ing-knives, used  in  cutting  the  throats  of 
deer.  Thus  equipped,  they  mounted  two 
raw  -  boned  horses,  sole  equine  posses- 
sion^ of  the  Daddy,  and,  followed  by 
the  hounds,  rode  down  the  mountain, 
turning  to  the  left  when  they  reached 
the  foot,  in  the  direction  of  Barney 
Jones's. 

It  was  a  superb  autumn  morning,  and 
the  bracing  air  brought  the  blood  to  the 
young  man's  face.  The  leaves  were  of 
every  color  of  the  rainbow.  The  least 
possible  trace  of  frost  lay  like  silver  on 
the  grass,  and  a  light  breeze  rustled  the 
foliage — blood-red  where  the  maple  and 
dog- wood  were  in  the  ascendant,  and  like 
molten  gold  where  the  hickory -trees  pre- 
dominated. Such  a  scene  always  made 
the  pulses  of  Brantz  Elliot  throb  with 
delight.  It  brought  out  the  "  wild  side  " 
in  him  in  full  force.  He  would  probably 
have  laughed  at  you  if  you  had  hinted 
that  Fifth  Avenue  or  the  Boulevards 
were  anything  in  comparison  to  the  val- 
:'  Bohemia  at  that  moment. 

They  rode  on  through  the  dusk  of 
morning  up  the  valley,  from  which  a 
white  mist  was  slowly  rising,  as  the 
dawn  began  to  glimmer  above  the 
mountain.  Later  in  the  autumn  this 
mist  was  going  to  turn  into  a  long,  dense 
cloud  of  milk-white  vapor,  defining  the 
course  of  the  Falling  Water.  Now,  how- 
ever, it  was  a  light  smoke  only  which  the 
dawn  was  chasing.  Soon  the  sun  would 
come  up  over  the  Blue  Ridge,  and  it  would 
completely  vanish. 

They  found  Mr.  Barney  Jones  waiting 
in  front  of  his  habitation — awreather-board 


establishment,  of  moderate  si/e,  nestling 
down  in  a  gash  of  the  mountain.  I '••>- 
hernia  gradually  narrowed  heiv,  terminat- 
ing in  a  deep  gorge.  Mr.  .Ion. •-,'-,  man- 
sion, which  was  unassuming  but  looked 
thrifty,  was  a  sort,  of  sentinel  at  the 
mouth  of  the  gOIge, 

He  was  standing  by  his  horse,  which 
closely  resembled  those  ridden  1>\  his 
visitors,  and  held  ;i  ritle  in  his  hand, 
lie  was  u.it  an  imposing  iigurr  in  his 
old  faded  hunting-coat,  his  rag-jvd  bn,\\n 
felt  hat,  and  his  patched  pantaloons  thrust 
into  his  boots.  But  then  Mr.  Uarney 
Jones  did  not  seem  to  care  much  for 
that.  His  expression  of  face  was  hu- 
morous and  sardonic.  He  expectorated 
with  an  independent  air.  He  was  very 
much  of  a  scarecrow  in  apparel,  but 
plainly  regarded  himself  as  one  of  the 
sovereigns. 

"  Well,  here  you  arc  at  last,  Daddy," 
Mr.  Jones  said.  "I'd  n'most  begun  to 
give  you  out." 

The  speaker  bcstowred  a  side  move- 
ment of  the  head  upon  Brantz  Elliot,  and 
at  once  mounted  his  horse. 

"The  rep-tile  was  seen  yistiddy  in  the 
Hogback,"  said  Barney  Jones.  "  Here, 
pup  ! — here,  pup  !" 

This  summons  was  responded  to  by 
half  a  dozen  tawny  hounds,  who  ran  joy- 
fully in  front  as  the  three  hunters  rode 
up  the  gorge  toward  the  Hogback,  a  ridge- 
parallel  with  the  main  range. 

Barney  Jones  promptly  communicated 
all  the  intelligence  which  he  had  received 
in  reference  to  the  catamount.  !!••  had 
come  over  from  the  "Three  Sisters" — a 
spur  of  the  mountain — some  days  before, 
and  had  been  seen  by  Jimmy  Wood  and 
Tom  Wilkins  on  two  occasions.  They 
had  followed  and  shot  at  him,  but  In-  had 
got  off  unhurt,  and  made  his  way  to  a 
pile  of  rocks  on  the  Hogback,  wln-r.-  lie 
seemed  to  have  his  den.  Afterward  he, 
Barney  Jones,  had  got  a  sight  of  him 
near  his  house  and  fired  at  him,  but  miss- 
ed him.  It  was  jo>t  between  hawk  and 
buzzard  in  the  evenin',  and  he  couldn't  see 
plain,  but  there  was  no  doubt  about  it — 
he  was  a  genm'we  catamounting.  lie  was 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


after  sheep  and  calves,  and  he,  Mr.  Jones, 
meant  to  give  him  a  lead  pill  to  swaller, 
which  he  rather  thought  would  settle  his 
hash  for  him. 

Mr.  Jones's  dialect  was  not  classic,  but 
Brantz  Elliot  did  not  mind  that.  His 
pulse  thrilled,  and  as  they  rode  on  up  the 
gorge  toward  the  Hogback  his  face  glow- 
ed. This  gorge  was  narrow,  and  heavily 
wooded.  Falling  Water  ran  through  it, 
and  over  it  hovered  a  cloud  of  mist.  On 
the  left  rose  the  shaggy  battlements  of 
the  Ridge,  and  on  the  right  the  steep 
range  called  the  Hogback,  probably  from 
its  bristling  pines.  On  the  very  summit 
towered  a  huge  pile  of  rocks,  lying  as 
though  emptied  from  a  gigantic  wagon. 
In  the  crevices  grew  evergreens,  and  even 
from  a  distance,  through  the  fog,  Elliot 
could  make  out  the  cavernous  apertures 
beneath  them.  In  one  of  these  caverns 
the  catamount  had  his  den. 

The  hunters  pushed  on  rapidly  up  the 
steep  and  rocky  bridle-path.  Their  ob- 
ject was  to  reach  the  top,  dismount,  con- 
ceal themselves,  and  wait  until  the  cata- 
mount, after  his  night-prowling,  returned 
to  his  den  —  which  would  probably  be 
about  sunrise.  Nocturnal  animals  —  of 
the  cat  species,  above  all — see  best  in  the 
niidit:  the  opal  eyes  expand;  in  the  day 
the  iris  contracts.  Like  the  burglar,  the 
night -prowler  takes  the  time  when  the 
world  is  asleep  to  attain  his  sinister  ends. 

Tln-v  ivaehed  the  summit  of  the  Hog- 
back just  as  the  rosy  flush  began  to  deep- 
en beyond  the  battlements  of  the  Blue 
Ridge,  whose  sombre  outline  was  clear- 
cut  against  the  mining  sunrise.  They 
dismounted,  hid  their  horses  behind  a 
thicket  of  cedars  rising  in  beautiful  cones, 
with  bases  resting  on  the  rocks  in  which 
they  grew,  and  every  one  took  his  stand, 
Hrantz  Elliot  crouching  in  the  tufted  head 
of  a  fallen  pine.  From  his  ]><»t  he  had  a 
full  view  of  the  pile  of  rocks,  which  was 
not  more  than  a  hundred  and  fifty  yard- 
distant,  and  of  the  gorge  beneath. 

II.-  watched  the  changes  in  the  wild 
landscape  with  admiration.  The  conr>e 
of  the  stream  was  clearly  defined  by  a 
mass  of  vapor,  the  upper  edge  of  which 


was  traced  boldly,  without  the  least  blur, 
against  the  dense  growth  of  evergreens 
on  the  opposite  mountain.  This  lasted 
for  a  few  moments  only.  As  the  flush 
on  the  summit  of  the  Ridge  changed 
from  delicate  rose  to  red,  the  mist  seemed 
to  grow  uneasy.  Then  it  shifted,  undu- 
lated, and  as  a  fiery  spark  like  a  distant 
beacon  appeared  above  the  fringe  of  ever- 
greens, the  upper  edges  of  the  mist  grew 
ragged  and  began  to  drift  upward.  Then 
the  sun  soared  up,  suddenly  flushing  the 
wild  gorge,  and  the  mist  fled  before  it. 
The  outline  grew  more  ragged,  flitted  off 
in  shreds,  and  in  a  few  moments  the  whole 
mass  became  translucent  —  you  could 
trace  the  outlines  of  the  gigantic  pines 
now  through  it,  and  every  object  in  the 
gorge. 

All  at  once  an  almost  imperceptible 
sound,  like  a  distant  growl,  came  up  from 
the  gorge,  and  Daddy  Welles,  who  was 
not  far  from  Elliot  said,  in  a  low  tone, 

"  Did  you  hear  that  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Elliot,  his  heart  beating ; 
"remember,  you  promised  me  the  first 
shot," 

"To  be  sure,"  Daddy  WTelles  said,  in 
the  same  low  tone ;  "  but  you'd  best  keep 
quiet  now." 

Elliot  nodded,  and  cocked  his  carbine, 
kneeling  on  his  right  knee,  and  complete- 
ly concealed  from  view. 

The  dogs  had  been  called  in,  and  were 
lying  in  rear  of  their  masters,  plainly  un- 
derstanding  that  it  was  not  time  for  them 
yet.  The  hunters,  crouching  down,  re- 
mained silent,  waiting.  The  air  was  per- 
fectly still.  Not  the  least  sound  disturb- 
ed the  solitude  of  the  Hogback.  Sud- 
denly a  twig  snapped  in  a  mass  of  brush 
in  front  of  them,  and  a  moment  afterward 
the  catamount  came  out  into  the  open 
tpAOe,  crawling  stealthily,  with  his  body 
nearly  touching  the  ground,  toward  his 
den. 

There  could   no   longer  be    the    1( 
d«»ul,t.     JI<-  was  a  full-grown  panther 
American  cougar,  nearly  six  feet  in  Ien« 
with  reddish-brown  fur,  white  under 
body,  and  dashed  on  the  throat  and  ch< 
with  black  and  white.      As  he  advance 


VIRGINIA    lUHIKMIANS. 


79 


,vith  his  stealthy  crawl  ho  turned  his  head 
Torn  side  to  side  suspiciously,  as  if  his 
nstinct  led  him  to  scent  danger,  and  the 
rlitter  of  liis  yellow  eyes  could  be  seen. 
\  strav  beam  of  the  sunshine  falling  on 
hem  seemed  to  turn  them  to  lire. 

One  of  the  blissful  moments  of  life 
lad  come  for  Brant/  Klliot.  His  heart 
throbbed  and  his  pulse  galloped  —  his 
land  shook  a  little  with  excitement  and 
'nil  delight,  as  a  lover's  trembles  when  he 
Iraws  the  head  of  the  one  he  loves  to  his 
uva-t.  But  the  tawny  head  of  the  cata- 
mount was  at  that  moment  an  object  of 
ntinitelv  greater  attraction  to  the  young 
tunter  than  could  have  been  the  curls 
and  roses  of  the  fairest  fair  with  golden 
lair  that  ever  lived. 

He  waited  until  the  catamount  had 
reached  a  point  midway  between  the  un- 
lergrowth  from  which  he  had  emerged 
and  the  mass  of  rocks.  Then,  resting  on 
lis  right  knee,  and  taking  deliberate  aim 
at  the  animal  behind  the  fore-shoulder,  he 
iivd. 

It  was  plain  that  he  was  struck.  lie 
altered  a  wild  scream,  wholly  unlike  the 
ow  growl  which  had  heralded  his  coni- 
ng, and  bounded  into  the  air.  As  he 
lescended  two  other  shots  rang  out,  but 
jvidently  did  not  touch  him.  He  wheel- 
ed, cleared  a  pile  of  brush  behind  him 
with  a  bound,  and  disappeared  in  the 
gorge. 

"  He's  tetched,  but  he  ain't  much  hurt," 
cried  Barney  Jones ;  "  whoop  !  here's  for 
him !" 

With  this  war-cry,  Mr.  Jones  leaped  on 
lis  rawboned  charger,  shouted  to  the 
dogs,  and  rode  headlong  down  the  rock/ 
slope  of  the  Hogback,  followed  by  his 
companions,  who  had  hastened  also  to 
their  horses.  Reckless  of  danger,  and 
wild  with  the  excitement  of  the  hunter, 
they  plunged  down  the  breakneck  road, 
ntent  only  on  following  up  the  game. 

After  that  it  was  more  like  a  deer-chase 
than  a  panther-hunt.  The  dogs  followed 
their  foe  by  the  scent,  never  losing  his 
trail  for  a  moment,  as  their  furious  bay- 
ng  showed.  The  game  was  obviously 
rery  far  from  being  disabled  by  Brantz 


Klliofs  bullet  ;  it  had  no  doubt,  inllirtrd 
a  flesh  wound  and  no  m«»re.  The  tireless 
running  of  the  animal  showed  that. 

liarnev  .lones  even  led  Daddy  \\Ylles 
and  Klliot.  He  -miied  to  have  made  up 
his  mind  to  administer  the  fatal  leaden 
pill,  or  break  his  own  <>r  his  h<>r>r\  neck 
in  the  attempt.  \Yith  heels  dug  into  his 
Rosinante,  and  long  ritle  Uourished  above 
him,  he  hallooed  on  the  dogs,  and  went 
after  them  like  the  Wild  Huntsman. 

His  companions  were  at  his  heels,  and 
they  ran,  scrambled,  tumbled  over  the 
rocky  mountain -paths  for  several  h-mrs. 
The  dogs  were  plainly  still  on  the  trail, 
for  the  baying  was  as  furious  as  before. 
But  the  game  was  not  giving  out  yet. 
He  doubled  from  one  end  of  the  gorge 
to  another,  and  then  mounting  to  the  top 
of  the  Blue  Ridge,  followed  the  summit 
southward. 

Daddy  Welles  drew  rein  and  said,  look- 
ing at  his  horse, 

"Well,  old  Tom's  nigh  gi'n  out,  Bar- 
ney. The  varmint's  off." 

"Not  by  no  means!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Jones;  "he'll  double  agin;  I'll  swear  to 
it — if  I  ken  only  git  a  chance  to  empty 
my  gun  at  him." 

lie  dug  his  heels  into  his  steed,  uttered 
his  warwhoop,  and  plunged  on,  followed 
by  Daddy  Welles  and  Elliot — for  great 
is  the  moral  influence  of  enthusia>m. 
The  three  hunters  disappeared  south- 
ward, following  the  dogs  as  before,  and 
taking  the  chances  that  the  animal  would 
double  once  more. 

He  was  going  to  double 'again,  and  that 
fact  was  to  lead  to  a  somewhat  startling 
incident. 

The  sun  had  mounted  high  by  this 
time,  and  it  was  nearly  noon.  Tin-  val- 
ley of  Bohemia  looked  very  pretty  in 
the  fresh  light,  and  what  made  tin-  land- 
scape along  the  banks  of  the  Falling 
Water  more  attractive  was  the  pivM-in-e 
of  what  painters  call  human  ligmvs. 
These  were  the  figures  of  Mr.  <  'ary  and 
his  daughter,  who  were  riding  along  qui- 
etly, admiring  the  rich  coloring  of  the 
leaves,  and  conversing.  As  Mr.  Gary  had 
informed  Brantz  Elliot,  one  of  his  few 


80 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


diversions,  outside  of  bis  library,  was  to 
walk  or  ride  with  bis  daughter;  and  on 
this  morning  they  bad  set  out  on  horse- 
back to  enjoy  the  fresh  air  and  the  autumn 
scenery.  There  was  a  picturesque  route 
along  the  western  bank  of  the  stream, 
which  they  could  cross  by  a  ford  above, 
and  then  return  along  the  eastern  bank, 
in  sight  of  Daddy  Welles's.  They  ac- 
cordingly followed  this  road,  splashed 
through  the  ford  where  the  water  was 
scarcely  above  the  horses'  knees,  and,  turn- 
ing back,  were  riding  slowly  along  the 
bank,  in  order  to  return  home  by  the 
bridge  on  the  stage-road  leading  to  the 
Gap. 

For  some  time  Mr.  Gary  had  heard  a 
distant  baying  in  the  gorge  toward  the 
Hogback,  and  had  called  his  daughter's 
attention  to  it. 

"Some  one  is  hunting,"  he  said; 
"  probably  Mr.  Elliot.  lie  is  a  very 
agreeable  young  man,  and  quite  a  Nim- 
rod." 

"He  is  very  agreeable,  indeed,"  Miss 
Frances  said,  with  her  habitual  mirth. 
"  I  would  set  my  cap  at  him  if  he  wras 
not  already  engaged!" 

14  Is  he  engaged  ?" 

"  Well,  I  don't  mean  engaged,  exactly, 
papa ;  but  it  is  perfectly  plain." 

"  What  is  plain,  dear?" 

"  That  he  is  in  love  with  Nelly  Welles." 

"  Do  you  really  think  so  ?" 

"  I  am  sure  he  is.  Mercy  !  you  didn't 
see  how  he  looked  at  her  when  she  came 
d«>wn  in  my  blue  silk.  There  is  not  the 
least  doubt  about  it,"  said  the  astute 
young  lady. 

rv  well,  dear,"  Mr.  Gary  said;  "I 
am  sure  little  Nelly  \\ill  make  him  a 
good  wife  if  they  are  married.  She  has 
a  charming  face." 

"  Ila-n't  sin-  (  \  have  fallen  in  love 
with  her,  and  I  wish  you  would  stop  ami 
let  me  see  her  to-day." 

"Certainly,  if  you  wi*h,  Franee,"  Mr. 
Gary  said,  bestowing  his  pet  name  on  the 
girl — "  but  take  care  of  your  horse.  You 
know  he  is  skittish,  and  I  hear  the  baying 
in  the  mountain  coming  nearer.  The  dogs 
might  frighten  him." 


"  There's  no  danger,  papa." 

"  Still,  it  is  just  as  well  to  be  on  youi 
guard,  and  to  keep  your  reins  well  in 
hand.  With  a  skittish  horse  there  id 
always  a  certain  amount  of  danger." 

There  was  danger,  and  a  very  consider- 
able amount  of  it,  indeed.  They  were 
passing  through  a  dense  belt  of  woods, 
not  far  from  the  stream,  when  a  crash- 
ing sound  was  heard  from  the  slope  on 
their  right,  the  foliage  parted,  and  the 
catamount  which  the  hunters  had  been 
pursuing  bounded  into  the  path  within 
a  few  yards  of  them.  He  was  panting, 
and  covered  with  blood.  His  red  tongue 
hung -from  his  lips  edged  with  froth,  and 
hia  sharp  teeth  were  visible.  As  much 
frightened  as  the  horses,  he  uttered  a 
deep  growl,  and  seemed  about  to  adopl 
the  plan  of  cowards  —  that  is,  spring  to- 
ward the  object  of  which  he  was  afraid. 

The  growl  was  followed  by  an  excla- 
mation from  Mr.  Gary.  His  daughter's 
horse,  wild  with  fear,  had  bounded  ten 
feet,  and  snapped  his  rein.  The  cata- 
mount crouched,  apparently  with  the  in- 
tention of  springing,  when  a  rifle -slot 
rung  out,  and  the  animal  rolled  over  on 
the  ground,  tearing  up  the  earth  with  his 
claws  and  teeth.  He  was  shot  through 
the  body ;  and  as  he  writhed,  a  gush  of 
blood  stained  the  carpet  of  pine  tau-s. 

Mr.  Gary  had  seized  the  bridle  of  his 
daughter's  horse  close  to  the  bit,  and  held 
him  with  a  grip  of  iron. 

"Gan  I  help  you,  sir?"  said  a  voice. 

He  looked  round,  and  saw  a  young 
man  in  plain  clothes,  who  had  come  O'lt 
of  the  woods  to  the  spot,  and  was  Iran- 
ing  on  a  rifle. 

"Did  you  fire  that  shot?"  Mr.  Gary 
exclaimed. 

"  I  am  glad  to  say  I  did,  sir,"  the 
young  man  said. 

"Then  I  have  to  thank  you  for  saving 
my  daughter  fr<>m  what  might  have  proved 
a  fatal  accident!"  Mr.  Gary  said,  grasping 
his  hand.  "My  name  is  Cary.  sir,  and  I 
shall  never  forget  the  service  you  have 
done  me  to-day." 

"Yon  rate  it  too  highly,  Mr.  < 'ary," 
said  the  young  man.  "  My  name  is 


VIRGINIA    IIU1IKM1A.NS. 


81 


Vance,  and  I  am  very  glad  I  came  up  at 
the  moment.1' 

"Do  you  reside  in  this  neighborhood, 
Mr.  Vance?  If  so,  I  hope  you  will  come 
and  SIT  me,  and  let  me  thank  you  at  my 
leisure." 

"  In  your  near  neighborhood,'1  tlie 
younjj  fellow  said.  "  Thank  you,  Mr. 
try." 

With  this  non-committal  reply  the  young 
hunter  went  to  the  spot  where  the  pan- 
ther was  lying,  lie  was  quite  dead  by 
this  time,  and  lay  with  his  mouth  open 
and  his  red  tongue  hanging  out.  The 
upper  lip  was  raised,  and  revealed  the 
sharp  teeth. 

"  It  is  a  real  panther,"  said  the  young 
man.  k'  AVe  had  a  superb  one  in  the  Un- 
rivalled Combination  of  Attractions." 

lie  laughed  as  he  said  this.  A  mo- 
ment afterward  the  dogs  rushed  upon  the 
scene,  and  the  three  huntsmen  on  their 
jaded  horses  followed,  halting  suddenly, 
and  looking  with  astonishment  at  the 
group. 

"  So  he's  dead !"  Brantz  Elliot  exclaim- 
ed ;  and  turning  round,  he  said,  "  AVhy, 
Mi—  Cary  !  is  that  you?" 

"In  person,"  she  said,  laughing,  and 
making  him  a  little  bow. 

"  So  you  are  in  at  the  death." 

"  It  was  nearly  my  own,"  the  girl  said. 

Then  explanations  followed,  and  the 
general  satisfaction  was  increased  by  the 
war-dance,  accompanied  by  whoops,  which 
Mr.  Barney  Jones  executed  around  the 
dead  animal. 

"  So  I  am  not  to  take  his  skin  to  New 
York  and  show  it  at  the  club,  after  all !" 
Brantz  Elliot  said,  ruefully. 

"Do  you  want  it?  You  may  have  it 
if  you  wish  —  I  suppose  it  is  mine,  as  I 
shot  the  owner  of  it,"  said  the  young  man 
with  the  rifle,  amiably. 

"May  I?"  Brantz  Elliot  exclaimed, 
turning  round.  "  AVell,  I'll  take  it,  and 
thank  you  too !" 

"  You  are  welcome  to  it." 

"And  I'll  skin  him,"  Daddy  Welles 
said,  with  a  smile. 

The  hunters  grouped  themselves  around 
the  dead  panther,  looking  at  him  with 
6 


much  satisfaction,  and  Mr.  <  \-iry  uas  at- 
tracted like  the  rest,  lie  was  a  n-mark- 
ably  large  animal,  and  it  was  a  ivinark- 
ably  fine  shot:  the  bullet  had  g.inc  ri^ht 
to  the  vital  sput.  Mr.  <  'ary  looked  round 
t«»  say  so,  but  Harry  Vance  had  shoulder- 
ed his  rifle  and  walked  away.  Kverv- 
body  had  been  so  much  absorbed  that  no 
one  had  noticed  the  fact  but  I-YainTs 
Cary,  who  had  made  him  a  grateful  bow, 
which  he  politely  returned. 


XXVII. 

THE    TRAMPS. 

THE  sitting-room  at  "Falling  AVater" 
— the  name  of  Mr.  Gary's  house — was  a 
very  pleasant  sight  on  this  same  evening. 
A  slight  blaze  had  been  kindled  on  the 
old-fashioned  brass  andirons  in  the  J»n>ad 
country  fireplace,  for  the  evenings  were 
growing  cool ;  and  the  Argand  lamp,  with 
a  porcelain  shade,  upon  the  centre -table, 
covered  with  books,  diffused  a  moonlight 
glimmer  into  every  corner  of  the  apart- 
ment. In  the  immediate  circle  around  it 
the  light  was  quite  bright,  and  fell  upon 
the  figures  of  Mr.  Cary  and  Frances  seat- 
ed in  arm-chairs  facing  each  other. 

Colonel  Edmund  Cary,  or  Mr.  Cary,  as 
he  preferred  being  called,  retained,  as  he 
always  seemed  to  do,  his  expression  of 
mildness  and  composure.  It  was  the  air 
of  a  man  who  has  seen  so  much  and  such 
singular  things  in  life  that  he  is  no  longer 
surprised  by  anything.  You  could  see 
that  he  was  essentially  a  man  of  books; 
it  was  strange  that  destiny  had  ever  made 
a  soldier  of  him,  and  he  could  not  have 
loved  the  career  very  much.  No  doubt 
his  view  had  been  that  when  a  man's  na- 
tive soil  is  invaded  there  is  but  one  thing 
for  the  man  to  do — to  shoulder  a  musket 
or  buckle  on  a  sword.  There  was  enough 
of  pride  in  his  face  to  make  it  plain  that 
nothing  could  have  induced  him  to  re- 
main inactive  at  such  a  time.  Beyond 
this  the  pride  did  not  seem  to  be  an  ob- 
trusive or  aggressive  sentiment.  It  was 
there,  but  he  had  little  further  use  for  it 
now ;  and  having  lived  in  the  past  a  life 


82 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


of  action,  wished  now  to  live  tranquilly, 
indulging  liis  affections  and  Ins  literary 
tastes,  unmoved  by  harsh  emotions  or  by 
ambition.  As  he  was  alone  in  the  world, 
except  for  Frances,  she  was  his  idol.  You 
could  see  that  from  the  expression  of  his 
eyes  when  he  looked  at  her.  Some  hu- 
man beings  find  their  fullest  delight  in 
applause,  celebrity,  the  glittering  gewgaw 
of  a  name.  This  one  plainly  found  it  in 
his  home  and  the  face  of  his  daughter. 

It  was  a  very  sweet  face  as  the  girl  sat 
sewing  opposite  her  father,  who  was  read- 
ing. There  was  in  it  an  indefinable  some- 
thing which  suggested  the  freshness  of 
the  first  spring  days,  when  the  buttercups 
bloom.  She  was  rather  tall  and  quite 
slender,  with  brown  hair,  and  blue  eyes 
which  had  a  confiding  expression ;  and 
the  lips  were  very  red,  in  strong  contrast 
to  her  fair  complexion.  She  smiled  ha- 
bitually, from  a  natural  tendency,  it  seem- 
ed, to  mirth,  but  this  sometimes  gave  way 
to  another  expression — that  on  the  lips  of 
the  cabinet  picture  over  the  mantel-piece, 
which  she  exactly  resembled.  This  was 
an  expression  of  virginal  modesty.  Look- 
ing into  her  face,  you  could  see  that  her 
being  had  been  shaped  in  an  atmosphere 
of  purity,  and  that  she  no  more  affected 
modesty  than  the  dawn  affects  freshness. 
She  wore  one  of  those  ugly  "pull-back" 
dresses  which  confine  the  knees  unpleas- 
antly, but  she  had  arranged  the  scanty 
skirt  in  such  a  manner  as  to  conceal,  not 
display,  her  person.  Her  arms,  from  which 
the  sleeves  fell  back,  were  slender,  which 
is  another  word  for  beautiful.  Some  fe- 
male arms  are  Amazonian,  and  produce 
the  impression  that  they  are  ready  to 
strike — this  pair  seemed  intended  to  clasp 
the  neck  of  some  one  whom  their  mistress 
loved. 

"  It  is  really  like  a  novel !"  the  slim 
beauty  said,  laughing.  "  I  was  'rescued' 
— that  is  the  proper  w<>rd — just  like  LIK-V 
Asliton,  in  the  'Bride  of  Lammermoor.' 
And  then  he  was  a  'stalwart  youth' — 
doesn't  Mr.  (J.  1*.  R.  James  call  them  that  .' 
—  a  romantic  young  woodman,  perhaps 
a  Locksley,  Earl  of  Huntingdon,  in  dis- 
guise !" 


"  How  your  tongue  runs,  France  !"  said 
Mr.  Gary,  with  a  smile.  "  I  believe  you 
rattle  on  to  make  me  laugh,  my  child." 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  I?"  she  said. 

"  It  is  a  hard  task.  I  have  nearly  lost 
the  art.  There's  no  help  for  it." 

All  the  smiles  disappeared  from  the 
girl's  face,  and  a  quick  expression  of 
sadness  came  to  her  lips. 

"  No,  no !  papa,  do  not  talk  so,"  she 
said ;  "  please  do  not.  It  distresses  me 
so — indeed  it  does." 

Her  eyes  swam  as  she  looked  at  him, 
and  her  lips  trembled  a  little. 

"  Don't  think  of  that,"  she  said,  in  a 
faltering  voice  ;  "please  don't." 

"  Well,  I'll  be  more  cheerful,  dear. 
Look  at  me — I  am  smiling." 

"  It  is  a  very  sorrowful  smile.  Come, 
be  bright,  papa.  My  business  is  to  make 
you  cheerful  and  happy.  We  ought  to 
be  as  happy  as  we  can,  and  laugh  as 
much  as  possible — don't  you  think  so?" 

"  Certainly." 

"  I  have  been  laughing  to  myself  ever 
since  Mr.  Elliot's  and  Nelly's  visit.  He 
is  certainly  in  love  with  her,  and  I  m 
to  make  the  match.  They  might  ma 
and  live  at  Crow's  Nest:  the  house  coul 
be  fitted  up  for  them.  That  would 
delightful." 

"They  would  be  pleasant  neighbo 
but  it  would  require  a  good  deal 
money  to  fit  up  Crow's  Nest.  It  is 
tumble-down  old  place,  you  know,  and 
so  far  off  in  the  hills  that  I  really  have 
not  even  thought  of  it  for  a  long  time." 

"But  it  could  be  repaired,  and  Mr.  El- 
liot could  move  in  at  once,  as  there  is  no 
one  living  in  it,  is  there  ?" 

The  door  opened,  and  an  old  servant 
said, 

"  Mr.  Gibbs,  sir !" 

"Ask  him  to  walk  in,"  said  Mr.  Gary 
and  this  was  followed  by  the  appearan 
of  Mr.  Gibbs,  a  weather-beaten  personage 
in  drab  clothes,  who  had  long  managed 
Mr.  Cary's  property. 

M  Take  a  seat,  Mr.  Gibbs,"  Mr.  Cary 
said,  with  his  air  of  mild  courtesy. 

"I  thank  you,  sir;  it's  not  worth 
while,"  said  Mr.  Gibbs,  remaining  erect 


= 


VIRGINIA  BollKMIANS. 


83 


from  respect,  whereupon  Mr.  Gary  rose 
too.  "  I  came  to  say  the  people  I  told 
YOU  about  are  at  Crow's  Nest  yet  —  I 
can't  do  anything  with  Yin." 

Mr.  Cary,  standing  in  front  of  the  man- 
tel-piece, reflected  for  a  moment. 

"  You  say  they  are  tramps.  JIave  they 
trespassed — I  mean  done  any  damage?" 

"  None  to  speak  of,  sir,  unless  it's  burn- 
in'  brush  and  dead  wood.  But  they're 
nuisances." 

"  Have  you  seen  them  again?'' 

"  Yes,  sir.  There's  an  oldish  fellow, 
who  seems  a  little  out  of  his  head,  and  a 
younger  man,  and  a  little  girl.  The  worst 
of  the  party,  though,  is  the  big  man  with 
the  black  beard.  lie  did  the  talking." 

"Well,  what  did  he  say?" 

"  lie  'lowed  they  were  doin'  no  harm, 
and  didn't  mean  to ;  but  the  winter's 
comin',and  then  you'll  miss  something — 
maybe  a  lamb  or  a  pig.  They  ought  to 
be  made  to  clear  out." 

"  There  is  an  old  man,  you  say,  who 
seems  out  of  his  head  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

44  And  a  little  girl  ?" 

"The  littlest  mite  of  a  thing." 

"  xVnd  the  winter  is  coming,  as  you 
say.  I  would  not  like  to  turn  them  out." 
""  It'll  be  the  worse,"  said  Mr.  Gibbs. 
"The  big  fellow  with  the  black  beard 
looks  like  a  hard  subject.  His  fist  would 
knock  down  a  bull.  I've  made  up  my 
mind  to  take  my  pistol  along  on  my  next 
visit," 

4'  That  would  be  useless,  probably.  You 
informed  them  that  the  house  was  my 
property  ?" 

44  Yres,  sir ;  and  notified  'em  to  quit." 

44  And  they  refused?" 

44  The  big  man  did.  There  was  nobody 
there  but  him  and  the  mite  of  a  child 
when  I  give  him  the  notice ;  and  he 
doubles  up  his  big  fist,  and  looks  black, 
and  says,  says  he,  4  What  harm  are  we 
adoin'  to  anybody  ?'  " 

Mr.  Cary  nodded,  and  said, 

"  Well,  I'll  ride  over  myself  in  the 
morning,  Mr.  Gibbs.  You  need  not  give 
yourself  any  further  trouble." 

44  I'll  go  with  you,  sir." 


44  That  will  not  be  necessary." 

"But  the  big  man's  dang'rons  sir." 

"  I  have  had  a  great  deal  to  do  with 
danger  in  my  life,  Mr.  (iibbs.  It  is  the 
sort  of  thing  which  shrinks  before,  a  man 
when  he  faces  it,  and  cares  nothing  for  it. 
Not  that  I  think  there  is  the  lea>t  In-iv, 
or  that  your  big  friend  is  apt  to  make 
himself  disagreeable  to  me.  I  am  not 
thinking  of  him.  I  am  thinking  of  the 
little  mite  of  a  child.  I  should  not  like 
to  turn  her  out,  when  the  winter,  as  you 
say,  is  coming." 

Mr.  Gibbs  having  made  a  renewed 
proffer  of  his  company,  which  was  ,-igain 
declined,  thereupon  retired,  and  Mr.  Cary 
resumed  his  seat,  and  quietly  went  back 
to  his  reading. 

44 Poor  little  thing!"  said  Frances; 
44  4  the  littlest  mite  of  a  thing,'  he  said, 
papa." 

"  That  is  the  trouble,"  Mr.  Cary  said. 
44  It  is  very  easy  to  order  a  party  of  rough 
tramps  to  go,  but  not  so  easy  to  be  un- 
kind to  a  child.  Well,  wre  will  sec.  I'll 
ride  over  to-morrow." 

44  Do  pray  take  care,  papa,  and  don't 
have  trouble.  There  might  be  some 
risk." 

44  There  is  none,  my  dear.  Would  you 
try  to  frighten  an  old  soldier?  There 
will  be  no  trouble ;  let  me  read  you  this 
page.  There  really  are  an  enormous 
number  of  clever  writers  now;  this  is 
one  of  the  youngest  of  them." 

An  hour  afterward  Mr.  Cary  read  fam- 
ily prayers,  kissed  his  daughter  on  the 
forehead,  and  said  that  he  would  himself 
retire  after  writing  a  letter.  He  wrote 
the  letter,  sealed  and  directed  it,  and  then 
placed  it  behind  a  vase  on  the  mantel- 
piece for  the  mail.  This  brought  him  in 
front  of  the  cabinet  picture.  The  lips 
seemed  to  smile  upon  him,  the  glad  light 
in  the  eyes  to  caress  him.  He  looked  at 
the  picture  for  some  moments  calmly,  and 
then,  putting  out  the  lamp,  took  a  smaller 
one  from  a  side-table,  and  retired. 

On  the  next  morning  Mr.  Cary  w 
cupied  for  about  an  hour  after  br<?akfa>t ; 
he  then  ordered  his  horse,  and  set  out  for 
Crow's   Nest.      He   had  purchased   this 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


bouse,  with  a  tract  of  land  upon  which 
it  stood,  many  years  before,  in  order  to 
round  off  his  own  small  estate,  but  chief- 
ly for  the  fine  timber  on  it :  that  at  Fall- 
ing Water  was  Crowing  scant.  As  there 

very  good  overseer's  house  at  Fall- 
ing "\Vatcr,  Crow's  Nest  had  been  shut 
up;  and  he  had  almost  forgotten  its  ex- 
istence when  his  attention  was  suddenly 
called  to  it.  It  was  not  more  than  a  mile 
and  a  half  distant.  The  road  which  led 
to  it  was  nearly  unused,  except  as  a  short 
cut  by  the  mountain  people.  It  wound 
through  a  dense  growth  of  pines  along 

•  j>e  of  the  range  in  rear  of  Falling 
AYater,  and  here  and  there  crossed  a 
mountain  rivulet,  which  had  worn  a 
channel  deep  into  the  slope,  and  gurgled 
over  rocks,  between  abrupt  banks,  dense- 
ly covered  with  evergreens.  It  was  some- 
tinirs  difficult  to  descend  into  and  emerge 

O 

from  these  ravines,  but  Mr.  Gary  seemed 
to  be  an  experienced  horseman,  and  push- 
ed on,  scarcely  noticing  the  ground  over 
which  he  passed.  The  whole  tract  was 
wild  and  solitary.  From  time  to  time 
the  drumming  of  a  pheasant  was  heard 
in  the  thickets,  or  the  low  croak  of  a 
wild  turkey  ;  and  hares,  with  their  white 
tails  erect,  leaped  up  and  scudded  off. 
Tin-  intrusion  of  the  horseman  on  their 
domain  seemed  to  astonish  them. 

Lost  in  reverie,  and  with  a-  shadow 
upon  hi.s  face,  Mr.  Gary  went  on  at  a 
walk,  with  his  bridle  <»n  his  horse's  neck 
and  \\'\-  eyea  fixed  upon  tin1  ground. 
From  time  to  time  In-  raised  his  head 
and  looked  around  him.  I  >id  tin 
of  the  objects  near  him  remind  him  of 
the  time  when  he  looked  at  them  in  com- 
pany with  another  person  ?  It  was  pmh- 
al>le.  When,  after  a  long  lapse  of  time, 
we  return  to  seen  iated  with 

brighter  yean*  and    face-*  that    an 
the  pa-t  times  and  faces  strike  dolorously 
on  the  heart. 

II'-  came  in  sight  of  Crow's  \V-t  at 
last.  It  was  an  old  tumble-down  hoiisr 
of  weather-board,  which  one,-  might  have 
been  bright  with  eheerful  faces,  but  now 
was  loneliest  of  the  lonely,  and  the  pict- 
ure of  neglect.  The  fences  once  endo- 


ing  the  yard  were  down,  the  window- 
panes  were  broken,  and  the  path  up  the 
hill,  once  broad  and  beaten,  was  nearly 
effaced  by  the  growth  of  grass.  Be- 
hind the  house,  which  stood  upon  a 
knoll,  stretched  the  interminable  thicket. 
There  was  no  glimmer  of  light  through 
the  windows — no  human  being  was  seen. 
The  door  was  closed :  it  was  difficult  to 
believe  that  the  foot  of  man  had  been 
placed  within  the  enclosure  for  a  score 
of  years. 

Mr.  Gary  dismounted,  threw  his  bridle 
over  a  bough,  and  went  up  the  path.  No 
one  had  yet  appeared,  and  he  walked  up 
to  the  small  porch,  whose  floor  was  rot- 
ting, and  knocked  with  his  riding-whip. 
As  the  sound  died  away  the  door  open- 
ed, and  the  Lefthander,  with  his  shaggy 
black  eyebrowrs  making  the  straight  line 
across  his  face,  confronted  the  visitor. 

"  What  do  you  want?"  he  said. 

Mr.  Gary  looked  at  him  with  some 
curiosity. 

"  There  will  be  time  enough  to  tell  you 
that,  friend,  when  you  do  not  block  up 
the  door-way,  and  allow  me  to  come  in." 

"  I  do  not  know  you.  I  asked  yoi 
who  you  were?"  said  the  Lefthander,  ii 
his  phlegmatic  voice. 

"  I  am  the  owner  of  this  property,' 
Mr.  Gary  said,  looking  still  with  intei 
on  the  remarkable  face  and  figure  of  tl 
Lefthander;  "and  I  have  a  better  right 
ask   who  you  are  than  you  have  to 
that  question  of  me." 

"  So  this  is  Golonel  Gary — the  propi 
etor,"  said  the   Lefthander,  in   a    sini>U 
tone.     "  You  have  come  at  last  to  order 
us  away  from  this  poor  shelter." 

The  eyes  of  the  speaker  wore  n< 
pleasant.  The  Lefthander's  nature 
a  ponderous  one,  that  rarely  lost  its 
.•nice  from  anger;  but  he  was  grown 
angry  on  this  morning.  The  interview 
with  manager  Gihbs  had  been  unpleasant. 
That  personage  had  left  him  on  the  day 
before  with  the  announcement  that  he 
meant  to  have  *'  him  ami  all  his  gang 
turned  out  neck  and  heels;"  and  there 
had  rixMi  before  the  Lefthander's  ryes 
the  picture  of  his  little  Mouse  limping 


VIRGINIA    BOHEMIANS. 


85 


along  on  the  highway,  hungry  and  weary, 
which  had  begun  now  to  excite  what  was 
latent  in  this  man  —  a  certain  species  of 
ferocity. 

"So  you  are  the  proprietor — the  mas- 
ter," he  said,  in  his  deep  voice.  kt  Y«>u 
are  a  well-to-do  gentleman,  with  your  car- 
riages and  horses,  your  servants  and  every 
luxury,  while  we  are  only  a  poor  company 
of  tramps  you  look  down  on,  and  intend 
to  treat  like  dogs." 

"  I  have  never  felt  such  a  sentiment 
toward  any  human  being,"  Mr.  Gary  said, 
in  his  composed  voice. 

"Why  have  you  come,  then?  You 
come  to  drive  us  away,  and  my  child  will 
not  have  a  roof  over  her  head !  AY  hat  have 
we  done  to  injure  you?  Are  we  thieves? 
You  have  a  child,  perhaps — so  have  I,  and 
I  love  my  child  as  much  as  you  -love 
yours.  Do  you  think  I  will  have  you 
turn  her  out  on  the  highway  ?  There'll 
be  trouble  before  that." 

Mr.  Cary  had  not  ceased  looking  curi- 
ously at  the  Lefthander.  The  man  seem- 
ed to  interest  him  as  a  study.  His  eyes 
were  fixed  upon  the  broad  face,  with  the 
black  brows  shut  down  over  the  eyes — he 
did  not  seem  to  be  aware  of  the  fact  that 
the  heavy  hand  hanging  at  his  compan- 
ion's side  had  closed  with  a  covert  threat. 

"Come,  come!"  he  said  at  last,  "un- 
bend your  black  brows,  friend,  and  let  us 
talk  like  reasonable  people,  not  like  chil 
dren.  I  am  not  a  child,  to  be  frightened 
by  your  frowns.  Who  is  here  besides 
yourself?" 

Harry  Vance  came  forward  and  held 
out  his  hand.  Mr.  Cary,  who  had  ad- 
vanced toward  the  Lefthander  with  the 
intention  of  entering,  stopped,  looking 
with  great  surprise  at  the  young  man. 

"  You  !"  he  said—"  Mr. Vance  ?" 

"  Myself,  Colonel  Cary !" 

"  You  are  one  of  the — " 

"The  tramps  —  yes.  But  not  a  very 
dangerous  one,  I  hope.  You  have  the 
right  to  come  into  your  own  house.  I 
told  you  we  were  neighbors." 

The  young  fellow  laughed,  and  said, 

"  Father,  this  is  Colonel  Cary." 

And  Gentleman  Joe,  coming  out,  made 


Mr.  < 'ary  a  bow  full  of  carne>tn<^->  and 
real  dignity. 

"  1  know  you  very  well  by  reputation, 
>ir,"  lie  siid,  "and  am  sorry  we  ha\v  fcrw 

»i'd  on  y«»ur  property  —  but  we  are 
very  poor." 

"You  do  not  trespass  at  all,"  Mr.  Cary 
said,  going  into  the  room,  which  contain- 
ed only  a  table  and  some  old  chairs,  and 
mattresses  rolled  up  in  a  corner.  "  I- 
this  your  little  mite  of  a  child  ?  You  are 
a  mite,  indeed,  little  one.  What  is  your 
name?" 

"  Mouse,  sir." 

"  Well,  I  have  not  come  here  to  turn 
out  the  mouse." 

Mr.  Cary  then  sat  down  before  the 
blaze  in  the  large  fireplace,  and,  turning 
to  the  Lefthander,  said, 

"Come,  get  back  your  good -humor, 
and  stop  scowling,  friend,  and  let  us  talk. 
Anger  is  nearly  always  an  absurd  thing. 
You  call  me  a  well-to-do  gentleman — I  am 
a  very  poor  one.  It  is  the  same;  I  am  a 
man,  and  you  are  men  like  myself.  One 
of  you  I  know  well ;"  he  turned  to  Harry 
Vance  and  said,  "I  invited  you  to  come 
and  see  me;  as  you  did  not,  I  have 
come  to  pay  you  the  first  visit,  which  you 
are  entitled  to." 

Mr.  Cary  stayed  at  Crow's  Nest  for 
nearly  an  hour.  He  then  got  up,  and 
said, 

"Give  yourself  no  further  trouble — 
you  are  not  trespassing  here.  You  are 
very  welcome  to  occupy  this  house.  If  I 
can  assist  you  in  any  way,  call  on  me, 
and  I  will  do  so  gladly." 

Mouse  was  standing  near  him,  and  he 
placed  his  hand  paternally  on  her  head. 

"  Poor  little  Mouse !"  he  said,  "  did  you 
think  I  would  turn  you  out  of  this  poor 
place?  No,  indeed,  my  child,  you  are 
welcome  to  remain  here  with  your  friends 
as  long  as  you  choose,  and  to  make  your- 
self as  happy  as  you  can,  poor  little  one ! 
Your  father  wras  right — there  is  a  right 
above  the  right  of  property,  and  I  bear 
you  no  malice,  friend,"  he  said  to  the 
Lefthander.  "  On  the  contrary,  I  respect 
you." 

He  shook  hands  with  each  in  turn,  and 


86 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


then  went  down  the  hill  and  rode  away. 
As  he  was  passing  the  overseer's,  he  said 
to  Mr.  Gibbs, 

"Allow  the  people  at  Crow's  Nest  to 
remain  —  there  will  be  no  trouble,  Mr. 
Gibbs." 

When  he  reached  home  he  said  to 
Frances, 

"The  tramps  are  very  honest  people, 
my  dear,  and  the  little  mite  of  a  child  is 
quite  charming." 


XXVIII. 

THE    HOME    OF    THE    HOMELESS. 

CROW'S  NEST  had  become  the  place  of 
refuge  of  Gentleman  Joe,  the  Lefthander, 
Harry,  and  Mouse  in  a  very  simple  and 
natural  manner. 

When  the  Lefthander  left  the  home  of 
Mr.  Grantham  before  daylight,  carrying 
Mouse  in  his  arms,  he  went  out  of  the 
town  toward  the  mountain,  the  place  of 
rendezvous  which  he  had  agreed  upon 
with  his  two  friends.  This  was  a  se- 
cluded spot  about  half-way  up  the  slope 
of  the  Blue  Ridge,  on  a  little  plateau,  and 
not  far  from  the  stage-road,  where  a  small 
stone  chapel,  as  it  was  called,  stood — a 
very  ancient  building,  erected  and  used  by 
the  first  settlers  in  the  region.  Service 
was  still  occasionally  held  in  it  by  Mr. 
Grantham,  who  had  it  under  his  charge ; 
but  it  was  chiefly  used  as  a  burial-place 
for  the  older  families,  generation  after 
generation  of  whom  had  gone  to  sleep  in 
the  grassy  enclosure,  surrounded  by  a  low 
stone  wall,  with  a  willow  drooping  over 
the  mossy  slabs. 

Just  without  the  enclosure  was  a  very 
fine  spring,  which  gushed  up  from  be- 
neath the  gnarled  roots  of  an  oak;  and 
here,  beside  a  cheerful  fire,  stood  Gentle- 
man Joe  and  Harry,  the  latter  holding  in 
his  hand  a  rifle,  which  he  had  always  car- 
ried about  with  him  to  hunt  when  the 
circus  stopped  in  the  rural  districts  to  re- 
cuperate, as  it  often  did. 

"Here  you  arc,  Lefthander!"  Harry 
exclaimed. 

"And  Mouse,  too  —  but  about  break- 
fast ?"  said  the  Lefthander. 


"  You  see,  we  thought  of  that,"  said 
Gentleman  Joe,  pointing  to  the  fire,  where 
a  coffee-pot  was  boiling,  and  some  beef 
frying  in  a  pan. 

"  We  came  here  last  night,  and  made  a 
fire  and  camped  out ;  Harry  had  bought 
the  pot  and  frying-pan  and  tin  cups,  with 
some  coffee  and  sugar  and  beef  and  bread, 
so  that  you,  and  Mouse  especially,  should 
not  go  without  your  breakfast." 

The  Lefthander  had  deposited  Mouse 
on  the  roll  of  blankets  near  the  fire,  on 
which  Harry  and  his  father  had  slept. 

"  Well,  that's  like  you,  Gentleman  Joe," 
he  said;  "you're  a  man  of  more  sense 
than  all  of  us.  But  what  is  she  doing? 
What  are  you  after,  Mouse  ?" 

"I  am  after  my  business,"  said  Mouse, 
who  was  limping  around  and  carefully 
superintending  the  cooking.  "I'm  the 
house-keeper — which  you  will  please  un- 
derstand, and  not  interfere  with  me." 

The  Lefthander  sat  down  and  lookc 
at  the  child,  as  she  bustled  about,  with 
pleased  smile  on   his  lips.     She  sccmc( 
to  have  quite  forgotten  her  accident,  and 
with  one  hand  deftly  raised  the  coffee-pot 
from  the   coals,  took  off  the  fried  be< 
and  arranged  them,  with  a  large  loaf 
bread  and  some  tin  cups  and  brown  su< 
which  were  near  by,  on  the  greensward. 

"Well,  whoever  saw  the  like!"  the 
Lefthander  said,  with  admiration ;  "  here's 
your  little  mother  and  house-keeperess  for 
the  troupe." 

"And  we're  a  troupe  at  last,  by  our- 
selves!" said  Mouse.  "We'll  have  the 
hand -organ,  and  the  monkey  with  the 
feather  in  his  cap,  after  all — and  I'll  see 
the  flowers  and  the  sunshine,  ami  carry 
the  hat  around,  as  I  told  you  I  would, 
Barry  r 

"It  really  looks  like  it,"  said   Ilai 
lau^hini^;  "and  I  see  one  thing  plainly, 
Mom 

"What  is  that,  sir?" 

"  That  you're  going  to  be  manager  and 
ronunander-in-chief  of  this  troupe  !" 

They  sat  down  and  breakfasted,  enliv- 
ening their  repast  with  jests  and  laughter. 
The  air  of  the  fresh  morning  seemed  to 
fill  their  pulses  with  life  and  enjoyment. 


:cd 

icd 
ind  I 
-pot 
>eef, 
fof 
ip  r 
4 

+  1,~ 


.,, 

irry, 


VIKC1MA    r.oIIKMIANS. 


87 


The  sunrise  bathed  tlu'in  in  its  golden 
beams  the  birds  wore  singing,  the  bivouac 
fire  crackling;  the  wanderers,  without  a 
shelter,  had  found  something  like  a  home 
in  this  secluded  nook,  and  enjoyed  the 
present  moment,  without  thinking  what 
inUjlit.  befall  thorn  in  the  future. 

r.ivakfast  finished,  that  future  demand- 
ed consideration.  Where  should  they  go, 
and  what  means  of  support  could  they 
have  recourse  to?  Mouse's  plan  of  or- 
ganizing themselves  into  a  troupe,  with  a 
hand-organ,  a  monkey,  a  tent,  and  wagon, 
was  excellent;  but,  unfortunately,  at  the 
moment  it  was  quite  impracticable.  With 
the  exception  of  the  Lefthander,  who  had 
a  portion  of  his  last  week's  salary  yet  un- 
spent in  bar-rooms,  the  little  party  were 
without  money.  It  was,  therefore,  neces- 
sary to  defer  the  troupe  scheme,  and  cast 
about  them  for  some  means  of  immediate 
support.  First  of  all,  they  must  look  out 
for  shelter  somewhere ;  then  they  would 
have  time  to  think.  So,  having  finished 
breakfast,  they  made  a  package  of  the 
blankets,  cooking  utensils,  and  the  rest  of 
the  provisions — Harry  took  them  on  his 
back — the  Lefthander  lifted  Mouse  in  his 
arms,  though  she  declared  that  she  could 
walk,  and  they  set  out  up  the  mountain 
road  leading  through  the  Gap. 

All  at  once  the  Lefthander  stopped, 
and  said, 

"Where  is  your  travelling-bag,  Mig- 
non ?" 

"  My  travelling  -  bag,  poppa !  Haven't 
you  got  it?" 

"  I  have  left  it  behind,  fool  that  I  am  !" 

exclaimed  the  Lefthander. 

"  It  must  be  at  the  fire." 

"  No,  it  was  not  left  at  the  fire,"  Harry 

said ;  "  neither  you  nor  Mouse  had  the  bag 

when  you  joined  us,  Lefthander." 

"Then  I've  left  it  at  the  priest's  — I 
mean  the  parson's,"  the  Lefthander  said, 
knitting  his  brows ;  "  and  I  must  go  back 
for  it,"" 

He  uttered  these  words  with  an  excite- 
ment extremely  unusual  in  him.  It  was 
plain  that  for  some  reason  he  attached 
the  utmost  importance  to  the  travelling- 
satchel. 


"  Wait  for  me,  I  will  not  be  long,"  he 
-aid. 

He  deposited  Mouse  on  her  fret,  point- 
ed to  a  grassy  bank,  which  afforded  her  a 
j,-ood  place  to  rest,  and  set  out  for  Pied- 
mont. In  an  hour  he  returned,  with  an 
expression  of  decided  gloom  upon  his 
features. 

"Did  you  find  it, poppa?"  Mouse  said, 
quietly. 

"  No,  Mignon.  It  was  not  left  there. 
I  must  have  dropped  it.  That  will  be 
unfortunate,  if — " 

He  stopped,  knitting  his  brows. 

"The  parson  was  not  at  home.  A 
sick  person  had  sent  for  him,  but  I  saw 
his  old  servant,  who  attends  to  the  rooms 
and  beds,  and  she  was  in  the  room  you 
slept  in  after  we  went,  and  saw  nothing. 
It  is  lost.  I  looked  all  along  the  road,  but 
could  see  nothing  of  it.  It  will  be  un- 
fortunate. I  will  make  another  search 
when  we  have  found  a  place  of  shel- 
ter." 

After  saying  this,  the  Lefthander  re- 
lapsed into  silence,  and,  taking  Mouse  in 
his  arms,  carried  her  up  the  mountain  and 
through  the  Gap.  Having  reached  the 
western  embouchure,  they  saw  a  country 
road  leading  to  the  left,  struck  into  it  at 
hap-hazard,  and  followed  it  for  a  mile  or 
two  along  Falling  Water,  until  they  reach- 
ed a  spot  where  the  stream  fell  over  a 
ledge  of  rocks,  from  which  it  derived  its 
name.  Just  beyond  this  was  a  ford,  and, 
on  the  opposite  hill,  what  seemed  to  be  a 
deserted  house.  The  Lefthander  pointed 
to  it  and  said, 

"There  is  the  place.  From  the  look 
of  things  no  one  lives  in  that  house,  and 
we  can  go  there  and  stay  for  the  night, 
at  least," 

He  shaded  his  eyes  with  his  hand  and 
added, 

"It's  forlorn  enough  looking,  and 
there's  no  one  there;  we  will  not  be  dis- 
turbed unless  there  are  ghosts." 

"  Ghosts,  ghosts !"  said  Gentleman  Joe, 
dreamily ;  "  yes,  there  are  ghosts.  They 
are  all  around  us — don't  you  believe  that, 
Lefthander  P 

The  Lefthander  looked  at  his  com  pan- 


88 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


ion.     Gentleman  Joe  was  falling  into  one 
of  his  strange  moods. 

"I  have  been  here  before,"  murmured 
Gentleman  Joe,  putting  his  hand  to  his 
forehead  ;  "  when  was  it  ?  But  it  was  a 
a  dream  only,  I  suppose." 

A  piteous  expression  came  to  his  face, 
but  he  said  nothing  more,  and  his  com- 
panions, apparently  accustomed  to  his 
vagaries,  paid  no  attention  to  his  words. 
The  Lefthander  led  the  way  through  the 
ford,  which  only  came  to  his  knees,  carry- 
ing Mouse  in  his  arms,  and,  following  a 
path  on  the  other  side  of  the  stream, 
they  ascended  the  hill  and  reached  the 
deserted  house.  It  was  dreariest  of  the 
dreary,  and  the  rotting  porch  gave  way 
under  the  Lefthander's  tread;  but  in  the 
bare  room  within  there  was  a  broad  fire- 
place, and  Ilarry  had  soon  collected  some 
dry  limbs  lying  around,  and  kindled  a 
cheerful  fire.  Then,  as  their  long  tramp 
had  made  them  hungry,  Mouse  set  about 
preparing  dinner,  which  consisted  of  cof- 
fee and  fried  beef  and  bread  —  after 
which  they  made  an  examination  of  their 
new  domicile. 

It  had  probably  been  a  very  comfort- 
able establishment  once  on  a  time,  but 
now  everything  was  going  to  decay. 
The  creaking  door  had  flown  open  under 
the  Lefthander's  ponderous  pressure — it 
was  only  secured  by  a  rusty  latch — and 
the  staircase  leading  to  the  rooms  above 
trembled  under  their  feet.  The  lower 
story  was  completely  bare,  but  in  an  up- 
per room  they  found  a  small  pine  table, 
and  two  or  three  old  chairs  without 
backs,  which  they  brought  down  and 
arranged  in  front  of  the  fire.  Then 
Harry  and  the  Lefthander  went  out  and 
collected  another  supply  of  wood,  and 
by  that  time  the  sun  began  to  decline. 
\Vhen  night  came  they  made  ;i  Led  for 
Mouse  of  the  blankets,  and  stretching 
thein>elves  upon  the  Hour  fell  a>leep. 
Such  was  the  fir>t  day  spent  by  tl. 
derers  at  Crov. 

On  the  next  morning  a  council  of  war 
was  held,  and  they  unanimously  resolved 
to  remain  where  they  were  for  the  present. 
They  had  provisions  for  some  days,  an<l 


another  supply  could  be  purchased  and 
brought  from  Piedmont :  there  was  an 
excellent  spring  fifty  yards  from  the 
house,  which  they  had  made  the  coffee 
from  on  the  preceding  evening;  and,  if 
Mouse  could  only  be  made  comfortable, 
it  really  was  a  very  good  place  to  live  in, 
this  deserted  house.  What  they  wanted 
was  another  supply  of  food  and  beds,  and 
Ilarry  said  that  he  would  go  and  buy 
them. 

"Just  buy  some  cotton,  Ilarry,  and  I'll 
stitch  up  the  beds,"  said  Mouse ;  "  that 
is,  if  you'll  buy  me  some  needles  and  a 
spool  of  thread  —  all  was  lost  with  that 
travelling-bag." 

The  Lefthander  produced  all  his  money 
and  gave  it  to  Ilarry. 

"  And  don't  fail  to  go  to  the  parson's, 
and  ask  if  they  arc  certain  about  that  bag 
— that  it  was  not  left." 

Ilarry  nodded,  set  out  at  a  long,  springy 
gait,  and  disappeared.  He  did  not  return 
until  late  in  the  day,  but  he  had  thought 
of  everything.  He  brought  a  supply  of 
sugar,  coffee,  flour,  bread,  salt,  some  beei', 
a  ham,  and  the  cotton,  with  the  needl 
and  thread. 

"  I  went  to  the  parson's,  but  he  w 
away  from  home  again,"  he  said.  "  Y 
must  have  dropped  your  travelling-bag 
the  circus  tent,  Lefthander." 

"  I  could  swear  I  did  not ! — it  is  po 
ble.  If  so  it  will  be  safe,  and  I'll  get 
back.  Clare  de  Lune  will  see  to  that." 

As  he  uttered  the  name   of  Clare 
Lune  the   Lefthander  fell   into  a  fit 
musing.      His    thoughts    had    evidentl 
gone  back  to  the  scenes  at  the  circus. 

"  Some  day  I'll  sec  her  again,  perhap 
he  said  ;  "  she  is  a  good  girl." 

Mouse  had  mean  while  set  about  stitch- 
ing up  the  beds,  which  she  did  with  a. 
business  air  whieh  was  impressive,  I'-ui 
she  really  was  extremely  expert  with  her 
needle.  On  the  next  day  she  had  finished 
them  all,  and  then  they  were  tilled  with  the 
pine  tags  from  the  thicket  in  rear  of  the 
hoii-e;  and  that  night,  after  an  excellent 
supper,  the  whole  little  troupe  slept  in  p 
feet  comfort. 

Thus  their  life  at  Crow's  Nest  be 


or 

: 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


89 


in  earnest  ;  ami  finding  tlieinsclvcs  un- 
molested, they  remained. 

Nearly  a  month  passed  in  this  manner. 

Mouse  had  completely  recovered  from  her 

sprain,  and  the  wanderers  passed  their 
time  in  rambling  through  the  beautiful 
September  woods,  in  talking  to  each 
other,  and  in  resolving  that  they  would 
in  some  manner  organize  the  troupe  with 
the  monkey  and  the  haiul-organ  without 
delay.  But  nothing  was  really  done  to- 
ward it,  and  day  after  day  passed  by,  and 
their  supplies  dwindled.  Then  came  the 
irruption  of  Mr.  Gibbs,  indignant  at  the 
presenee  of  trespassers,  with  the  subse- 
quent visit  from  Mr.  Gary.  The  result, 
so  far,  was  satisfactory:  they  would  not 
be  forced  to  leave,  at  least.  But  there  re- 
mained the  paramount  question  how  they 
were  to  live  in  future. 

The  wanderers  were  face  to  face  with 
want. 


XXIX. 

BY   A  FIRE   IX  THE   MOUNTAIN. 

ON  the  night  succeeding  Mr.  Gary's 
visit,  after  Mouse  had  gone  to  sleep  in 
her  warm  corner,  the  Lefthander  and 
Harry,  seated  before  the  fire,  held  a 
consultation  on  the  subject  of  their  fut- 
ure ways  and  means.  It  was  a  chill 
night,  and  the  muffled  sigh  of  the  wind 
in  the  pines,  waving  to  and  fro  in  the 
moonlight  without,  gave  notice  that  win- 
ter was  approaching.  The  very  rattle 
of  the  sashes  in  the  windows  told  them 
that,  and  the  prospect  before  them  seem- 
ed gloomy.  Gentleman  Joe,  seated  in 
the  corner  opposite  Mouse,  took  no  part 
in  the  conversation.  For  some  time — 
indeed,  from  the  moment  of  their  arrival 
at  the  Crow's  Nest  house — he  had  been 
serious  and  absent-minded.  He  rarely 
indulged  now  in  his  fits  of  fantastic 
laughter;  something  seemed  to  weigh 
upon  him  and  oppress  him.  At  times 
a  singular  expression  came  to  his  face ; 
his  mind  appeared  to  be  busy  with  some 
problem  which  he  wras  quite  unable  to 
solve.  While  Harry  and  the  Lefthander 
conversed  on  this  evening,  he  was  looking 


into  the  iire  with  a  dreamy  glance,  and 
any  one  could  see  that  he  was  utterly  un- 
conscious of  their  presence. 

The  Lefthander  was  smoking  his  short 
pipe,  and  leaning  one  ponderous  arm 
upon  his  knee.  They  had  l><vn  diaOHM- 
ing  the  melancholy  fad  that  they  had 
almost  nothing  left  to  eat,  and  even  Har- 
ry's powder  was  exhausted,  and  they  had 
no  money  to  buy  more. 

"The  main  thing  is  Mouse,"  >aid  the 
Lefthander.  He  looked  at  the  child,  who 
was  sound  asleep,  and  his  face  softened, 
as  it  always  did  at  such  moments. 

"One  of  us  must  stay  with  her,"  he 
said.  "You  and  me,  Harry,  might  find 
work  by  going  off  somewhere,  but  what 
would  become  of  Mouse  and  Gentleman 
Joe?" 

Harry  shook  his  head. 

"  It  would  never  do  to  leave  them. 
Mouse  is  a  child,  and  my  poor  father — 

He  stopped,  and  touched  his  forehead 
sadly. 

"  He  seems  worse  than  ever  of  late. 
He  winders  around  in  a  strange,  absent- 
minded  way,  looking  at  everything,  and 
muttering  to  himself  in  a  manner  I  don't 
understand.  Only  yesterday  I  heard 
him  say  to  himself,  'Why,  I  remember 
all  this !' " 

"Strange  enough,"  the  Lefthander  said, 
"  I  noticed  the  same  thing,  and  asked  him 
if  he  had  ever  been  here  before ;  but  he 
made  me  no  reply.  I  know  he  heard  what 
I  said,  for  he  turned  round  and  looked  me 
in  the  face  with  a  cunning  look,  as  if  he 
meant  to  keep  his  own  counsel." 

Harry  listened  to  these  words  with  a 
deeper  impression  of  gloom  upon  his 
face  than  before. 

"I  never  could  understand  father,"  he 
said ;  "  and  he  always  manages  to  turn 
aside  any  questions  I  ask  him.  But 
about  the  bread  and  meat,  Lefthander — 
we  must  see  about  that.  We  must  find 
work." 

"  Work !"  said  Gentleman  Joe,  sudden- 
ly arousing  himself  and  turning  round ; 
it  was  plain  that  he  had  not  heard  what 
had  been  said  before.  "  Work,  did  you 
say  ?  Yes,  we  must  work  for  Mouse." 


90 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"  Well,  that's  the  trouble,  Gentleman 
Joe,"  the  Lefthander  said ;  "  we're  at  the 
end  of  the  rope.  The  provisions  are  about 
out — hardly  enough  for  to-morrow.  "We 
might  go  and  work,  as  I  told  Harry  just 
now,  but  how  about  Mouse  ?  I  don't  mean 
Mouse  shall  want  anything." 

He  knit  his  brows. 

"  I  won't  steal,  but  it's  come  to  this 
that  somebody  will  suffer  before  Mouse 
does!  You  see,  I  don't  mind  myself. 
I've  given  up  drink,  and  am  willing  to 
work ;  but  if  I  can't — " 

"Set  traps,"  said  Gentleman  Joe,  qui- 
etly. 

"  Why,"  exclaimed  Harry,  "  we  never 
thought  of  that,  Lefthander !  The  moun- 
tains are  full  of  game,  and  nothing  is  easi- 
er, if  we  only  knew  how." 

"I  know,"  Gentleman  Joe  said;  and 
monopolizing  with  sudden  ardor  the 
whole  conversation,  Gentleman  Joe  en- 
tered upon  the  subject  of  constructing 
traps  for  game  in  a  manner  which  showed 
that  he  was  a  master  of  the  art.  Harry 
and  the  Lefthander  listened  with  admira- 
tion, and  did  not  interrupt  him. 

"  I'll  make  the  traps  to-morrow,"  said 
Gentleman  Joe.  And  it  was  agreed  that 
they  should  rise  early  and  set  about  the 
work  at  once,  in  order  to  have  the  traps 
ready  by  the  ensuing  evening. 

All  then  lay  down  in  front  of  the  fire, 
wrapped  in  their  blankets,  and  were  soon 
asleep — all  but  Gentleman  Joe.  lie  had 
closed  his  eyes,  but  in  about  half  an  hour 
opened  them  again  and  looked  intently 
into  the  fire.  Then  he  turned  round  and 
surveyed  every  portion  of  the  room  with 
a  vague,  dreamy  glance. 

"The  same,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice, 
pn— inir  his  hand  to  his  forehead.  "This 
is  Crou's  NYst — where  have  I  been  all 
this  tine 

His  mind  seemed  to  be  BtraggUng  with 
some  memory  which  came  to  him  vague- 
ly in  dim  outlines,  like  a  landscape  looked 
at  through  ha/r. 

"  I  must  not  tell  them — they  must  not 
know — but  what  have  I  to  tell  ?" 

He  sighed  deeply,  and  turned  his  head 
away  from  the  fire,  muttering, 


"I  must  have  dreamed  all  that!  I 
seem  to  remember  —  but  I  must  have 
dreamed  it." 

Another  sigh  followed  these  words,  and 
muttering  something  further  to  himself  he 
at  last  fell  asleep. 

Early  on  the  next  morning  they  set  to 
work  making  the  traps.  In  this  work 
Gentleman  Joe  was  the  manager  and  di- 
rector. With  the  assistance  of  bits  of 
plank,  some  nails  collected  here  and 
there,  and  strong  twine  string,  made  by 
untwisting  an  old  rope  discovered  in  an 
out-house,  they  succeeded  in  constructing 
the  traps ;  and  by  evening  they  were 
done.  It  was  then  agreed  that  Harry 
should  remain  with  Mouse,  while  Gentle- 
man Joe  and  the  Lefthander  crossed  to 
the  mountain  opposite  and  set  the  traps ; 
and  the  Lefthander,  taking  the  whole  load 
upon  his  back,  set  out  with  his  companion. 

They  descended  the  hill,  crossed  the 
stream  at  a  narrow  spot  upon  a  log,  and 
entered  the  woods  clothing  the  slope  be- 
yond. The  vicinity  was  wild  and  unin- 
habited. Here  and  there  ravines  pene- 
trated the  mountain,  nearly  concealed  by 
overhanging  trees  which  threw  deep  shad- 
ows, growing  deeper  as  the  sun  sunk, 
Making  their  way  into  the  silent  depths 
the  trappers  set  their  traps,  which  were 
already  baited,  and  then  attempted  to  re- 
trace their  steps  toward  the  crossing  ol 
the  stream. 

This  proved  far  less  easy  than  they  had 
supposed  it  would  be.  Night  had  fu\\y 
come  now,  and  scarcely  a  ray  penetrated 
the  shadowy  gorge  into  which  they  had 
advanced  for  a  considerable  distance, 
The  moon  had  not  risen,  and  a  haze  hid 
the  stars — in  addition  to  which  they  had 
lost  the  points  of  the  compass.  There 
were  no  paths  to  guide  them,  the  steep 
sides  of  the  gorge  affording  no  foothold 
even  for  the  mountain  cattle ;  and,  aftei 
wandering  around  for  some  time,  the 
Lefthander  and  Gentleman  Joe  came  to 
the  depressing  conclusion  that  they  we 
lost  in  the  mountain. 

M  Well,  here's  your  Babes  in  the  W< 
said  the  Lefthander,  with  a  low  laugh; 
"  we're  lost,  Gentleman  Joe." 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


91 


'•  Wait  for  moonrisc,"  said  Gentleman 
Joe.  "I  know  where  we  are." 

"V. »u  know!     How?" 

"  Well, 1  know.  That  is  the  Hogback 
ler." 

"  That  ridge  ?  Well,  that's  something. 
S.»  we  are  near  a  place  called  the  Hog- 
back /  You're  no  stranger  here,  then  ? — 
What  does  all  this  mean,  Gentleman  Joe  ?" 

They  were  pushing  through  the  thick 
fringe  of  pines  at  the  moment  —  all  at 
once  a  light  shone  in  front  of  them. 

"  Some  one  is  hunting,"  said  the  Left- 
hander ;  "  they  can  tell  us  the  way." 

He  advanced  in  front  of  Gentleman 
Joe,  and  they  steadily  approached  the 
light,  which  they  now  saw  was  that  of  a 
fire  burning  in  a  concealed  nook  between 
two  ledges  of  rock,  and  hidden  from  any 
one  approaching  in  all  directions  except 
from  the  difficult  spot  to  which  the 
trappers  had  wandered  in  the  darkness. 
There  was  something  wild  and  weird 
about  this  light  and  its  surroundings. 
The  masses  of  rock  rose  above  it  to  the 
right  and  left  in  rugged  ledges,  with  cedar 
bushes  and  trailing  vines  starting  from 
every  crevice.  On  these  the  red  light  of 
the  fire  threw  fantastic  shadows,  and  as 
it  soared  aloft  from  time  to  time,  the 
glare  fell  on  the  boughs  of  a  mountain- 
ash  reaching  far  over  the  ledge,  and  near- 
ly drooping  to  the  ground.  What  more 
than  all  astonished  the  Lefthander  and 
his  companion  was  an  object  only  a  few 
feet  beyond  the  fire.  Could  his  eyes  de- 
ceive him  ?  This  something  was  a  door 
in  the  side  of  the  mountain ;  there  was 
no  doubt  of  that.  It  was  nearly  covered 
by  the  drooping  foliage — but  there  it  was. 

The  Lefthander  stopped,  and  laid  his 
hand  on  the  arm  of  Gentleman  Joe. 

"  These  people  are  not  hunters,"  he 
said,  in  a  low  tone ;  "  look  at  them." 

Shadows  were  moving  to  and  fro  in 
front  of  the  fire,  and  dark  figures,  in  rough 
dresses,  were  dimly  visible  as  the  trappers 
cautiously  drew  nearer. 

"If  I  was  in  the  Bohmerwald  Moun- 
tain, I  should  say  they  were  the  wrong 
sort  of  people  to  go  near,"  said  the  Left- 
hander, in  a  low  voice. 


The  figures  at  the  lire  prohaMy  heard 
his  voice,  for  one  of  them,  with  a  gun  in 
his  hand,  left  the  group  and  eame  in  (In- 
direction of  the.  sound. 

"  Who  goes  there?''  said  thr  figure. 

The  Lefthander  continued  to  advance, 
whereupon  the  figure  raised  his  gun  to 
his  shoulder,  and  ordered — 

"Halt!" 

The  Lefthander  was  within  twenty 
paces.  He  stopped. 

"Well,"  he  said,  in  his  phlegmatic 
voice,  "  I  have  halted  to  oblige  you.  Who 
are  you  ?" 

"  Plain  people.  Who  are  you  ? — What 
is  your  business  here  ?" 

"Setting  traps,"  said  the  Lefthander; 
"and  you'll  do  me  a  favor,  friend,  if 
you'll  tell  me  how  to  get  out  of  this  dev- 
ilish place." 

The  figure  came  nearer,  and  bending 
down  peered  into  the  Lefthander's  face; 
as  his  back  was  to  the  fire,  his  own  was 
concealed. 

"You  are  the  big  man  living  at  the 
Crow's  Nest  house,"  said  the  figure. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Lefthander. 

"  Who  is  with  you  ?" 

"  One  of  my  friends." 

"You  are  tramps?" 

"  You  may  call  us  that,  if  you  fancy." 

"  Wait  a  little." 

The  figure  went  back  to  the  fire  and 
held  a  brief  colloquy  with  the  men  there. 
He  then  returned  to  the  Lefthander,  and 
said, 

"  Come  on,  friends — both." 

The  Lefthander  and  Gentleman  Joe 
approached  the  fire,  around  which  J'.arney 
Jones  and  two  or  three  others  were  stand- 
ing. The  person  who  had  held  the  col- 
loquy with  them  was  Daddy  Welles. 


XXX. 

DADDY    WELLES    RECONNOITRES. 

ONE  morning  Brantz  Elliot  received  a 
letter  from  a  friend  in  New  York,  inform- 
ing him  that  the  Coaching  Club  was  just 
about  to  be  organized,  and  that,  if  he  wish- 
ed to  have  his  name  enrolled  for  all  time 


92 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


among  the  "great  founders"  of  that 
mighty  enterprise,  it  would  be  essential 
to  return  at  once,  and  take  part  in  the 
deliberations. 

To  this  note  Elliot  replied  immediate- 
ly, announcing  his  early  return.  He  then 
decided  not  to  return,  but  to  remain  in 
the  little  mountain -house  beside  Nelly 
Welles,  who  now  in  the  October  days  had 
begun  to  be  all  the  world  to  him. 

It  had  come  at  last  to  that.  The  inci- 
dent on  the  stream  had  nearly  opened  his 
eyes,  and  now  they  were  quite  open  at 
last.  He  loved  the  girl  with  all  the  ardor 
of  first  love.  He  had  forgotten  her  linsey 
dress,  her  poor  origin,  the  social  inequal- 
ity between  them,  and  could  see  now  noth- 
ing but  the  glimmer  of  her  eyes,  and  hear 
nothing  but  the  voice  which  made  sweet- 
er music  in  his  ears  than  all  else  in  the 
world.  True,  he  did  not  come  to  realize 
and  accept  this  state  of  things  without  a 
struggle,  or  contemplate  the  idea  of  mar- 
rying Daddy  Welles  and  his  old  dame, 
together  with  Nelly,  without  something 
like  a  shudder.  The  dear  desire  was  bal- 
anced against  the  unpleasant  condition — 
but  love  conquered  pride.  Having  firmly 
resolved  to  tear  himself  away  violently 
from  the  temptation,  and  return  to  New 
York,  and  after  writing  to  his  friend  an- 
nouncing his  speedy  return,  he  quietly 
determined  to  remain,  and  drift  as  before 
upon  the  stream. 

Daddy  Welles  seemed  quite  unaware 
that  anything  but  a  love  of  hunting  re- 
tained Brantz  Elliot  in  the  mountains. 
He  never  made  sly  jests,  as  old  people 
will,  about  Nelly  and  the  young  man  ;  in- 
deed, he  seemed  much  too  busy,  tin- 
ccllent  Paddy  Welles,  t<>  bestow  his  at- 
tention on  the  affairs  of  other  people. 
The  mysterious  going  and  coining  of  un- 
couth personages  to  and  fr«>m  the  moun- 
tain-house, at  almost  any  hour  of  the  day 
or  night,  continued  ;  and  the  absene, 
Paddy  Welles  grew  more  frequent.  New 
faces  had  appeared  in  the  vicinity — those 
of  a  big,  black -browed  individual,  and  a 
fantastic  old  gentleman,  who  laughed  and 
sighed  by  turns.  These  faces  ha,l  be^un 
to  make  their  appearance,  Elliot  remem- 


bered, soon  after  a  certain  absence  of 
Daddy  Welles  for  a  whole  night,  or  rath-j 
er  until  just  before  daylight,  when  the! 
young  man  heard  him  come  in  cautiously,] 
place  his  rifle,  which  he  had  taken  with] 
him,  on  its  pegs,  and  retire  to  his  room. 
The  big  man  went  by  the  name  of  the 
Lefthander,  and  seemed  to  be  looked  to 
and  consulted  by  Paddy  Welles  as  a  co- 
adjutor of  the  first  importance  in  some 
secret  business.  As  to  the  fantastic  old 
man,  who  bore  the  equally  curious  name 
of  Gentleman  Joe,  he  seemed  to  have 
no  concern  with  any  business  whatever;) 
looked  around  him  in  a  dreamy  man- 
ner when  he  visited  the  house;  thrum- 1 
med  on  his  chair;  fell  into  reveries,  and 
woke  from  them  with  a  smile  or  a  sigh, 
scarcely  conscious,  one  would  have  said, 
where  he  was,  or  what  faces  were  around 
him. 

He  and  Nelly  had  become  the  best 
friends  imaginable.  Gentleman  Joe  had 
joined  Elliot  and  herself  one  day,  as  they 
were  walking  out  in  the  evening,  and  po- 
litely informing  them  that  he  resided 
with  some  friends  of  his  in  the  neighbor- 
hood, had  bestowed  his  society  upDn 
them,  smiling  gently,  and  looking  at  \  y 
with  so  much  affection  that  Elliot  did  not 
have  it  in  his  heart  to  resent  the  unwel- 
come intrusion.  As  to  Nelly,  she  was 
very  far  from  discouraging  the  poor  old 
fellow.  A  smile  full  of  pleasure  and  re- 
lief always  greeted  him  on  such  occasions; 
and  Brantz  Elliot,  seeing  that  smile,  was 
lost  in  a  maze  of  perplexity,  and  far  from 
pleased  at  what  seemed  to  indicate  a  de- 
sire on  the  giiTs  part  not  to  be  alone  with 
him. 

What  could  it  mean?  If  he  had 
known,  he  would  not  have  been  so  much 
displeased,  and  his  love  would  have  grown 
even  stronger.  That  longing  for  the 
presence  of  a  third  person,  on  the  part  of 
Nelly,  was  susceptible  of  a  very  simple 
explanation  if  Brantz  Elliot  could  have 
read  her  heart.  He  had  come  to  be  as 
<lcar  to  her  as  she  was  to  him.  All  the 
pent-up  feeling  and  romance  of  youth  in 
the  heart  of  the  poor  mountain-girl  had 
broken  the  barriers  and  flowed  toward 


VIRGINIA    BOHEMIANS, 


him — or  nearly  broken  them;  for  Nelly 
had  not  yielded  to  her  In-art.  The  very 
strength  of  her  love  ga\r  her  force  to  re- 
sist it.  If  she  were  to  marry  Kraut/  El- 
liot, >he  would  darken  his  whole  career. 
She  \\as  far  heneath  him,  socially,  and 
after  awhile  he  would  l»itterly  regret  tin- 
step  he  had  taken  in  a  moment  of  im- 
pulse. Then  the  result  would  be  misery 
for  1'oth  of  them — for  him,  from  the  con- 
sciousness that  he  was  yoked  to  a  wife 
unsuited  to  his  station  in  society  and  his 
edueated  tastes;  for  her, from  the  convic- 
tion which  would  be  daily  forced  upon 
her  that  he  regretted  having  ever  met  her. 
This  thought  haunted  Nelly  day  and 
night :  it  would  not  have  haunted  a  mer- 
cenary person,  or  one  without  pride;  but 
Nelly  was  proud,  and  so  far  from  being 
mercenary  that,  if  she  had  been  an  heiress 
and  he  a  poor  boy,  she  would  have  held 
out  her  arms  to  him  and  gladly  given  him 
herself,  as  she  had  given  him  her  heart. 
As  the  fact  was  the  reverse,  and  that  ter- 
rible future  of  her  imagination  more  and 
more  possessed  her,  the  poor  girl,  with  a 
sinking  heart,  came  to  a  fixed  resolution 
— to  discourage  the  attentions  of  Brantz 
Elliot,  which  were  growing  more  and 
more  ardent,  and  make  him  understand 
that  their  union  was  impossible. 

This  had  led  to  the  sweet  smiles  which 
she  bestowed  on  Gentleman  Joe  when  he 
joined  them  in  their  walks.  And  she  had 
really  grown  extremely  fond  of  him,  and 
called  him  "Gentleman  Joe,"  as  he  called 
her  "  Nelly,"  in  the  most  natural  manner. 
As  to  the  poor  old  fellow,  the  time  came 
at  last  when  he  seemed  to  be  quite  wrap- 
ped up  in  Nelly,  and  to  fix  his  melancholy 
eyes  upon  her  face  with  a  longing  tender- 
hich  went  to  her  heart.  He  would 
come  across  the  stream  almost  every  day, 
and  wander  through  the  woods  looking 
for  her ;  and  if  he  did  not  find  her,  he 
would  go  up  the  path  to  the  mountain- 
house,  and  bow  to  Mrs. Welles,  and  ask  if 
Nelly  was  at  home.  If  she  was,  she  came 
at  once  and  sat  and  talked  with  him.  If 
she  was  absent,  he  went  away  with  a  mel- 
ancholy shake  of  the  head.  When  one 
morning  he  made  his  appearance  thus  at 


the  ILIUM-,  and  heard  that  Paddy  Welles 
and  Nelly  had  gone  t«»  Piedmont  in  the 
little  spring- wagon,  he  uttered  a  sigh 
which  would  have  d.'iie  civdii  to  n  l,.u-r. 

The  vUit  of  Daddy  Welles  had  for  its 

object    the   pmvha-e    of  gr iritt.       With 

an  eye  to  business  in  the  way  of  a  trade, 
the  I  >addy  took  with  him  in  his  spring- 
wagon  a  number  of  sheepskins,  a  large 
roll  of  fresh  butter,  a  bag  of  dried  apples, 
a  haunch  of  venison,  ami  a  might  v  pile 
of  dried  sumach,  for  which  he  knew  he 
would  receive  one  and  a  quarter  cents  a 
pound.  With  this  and  the  proceeds  from 
the  rest  of  his  load,  he  proposed  to  lay  in 
a  stock  of  sugar,  coffee,  and  other  "  store  " 
supplies,  and  purchase  winter  clothing  for 
his  wife  and  daughter. 

As  the  spring-wagon,  drawn  by  its  an- 
cient mare,  drove  into  Piedmont,  its  occu- 
pants became  aware  that  something  was 
going  on.  As  Daddy  "Welles  looked 
around  him,  with  a  smile  of  more  than 
ordinary  sweetness,  it  may  he  that  he 
was  not  as  much  surprised  at  the  gen- 
eral excitement  as  might  have  been  sup- 
posed— even  that  he  had  had  some  inti- 
mation of  the  state  of  things,  and  had 
come  to  see  for  himself.  There  was  a 
large  crowd  in  front  of  the  tavern,  and 
through  this  crowd  passed  from  time  to 
time  figures  which  were  evidently  those 
of  strangers — probably  the  owners  of  the 
long  string  of  horses  tethered  in  the  sta- 
ble-yard in  rear  of  the  tavern. 

Daddy  Welles  did  not  proceed  as  far 
up  the  main  street  as  the  tavern ;  he 
stopped  before  the  door  of  an  f-tablish- 
ment  which  seemed  to  deal  in  gr< 
and  other  articles  of  nearly  every  descrip- 
tion, and  he  and  Nelly  got  out  and  went 
in.  After  awhile  the  Paddy  60 
from  the  store  and  bore  in  the  article* 
which  he  had  brought;  after  which.  leav- 
ing Nelly  apparently  to  make  her 
tion  of  goods,  he  strolled  in  a  leisurely 
manner  toward  the  blacksmith'-.  That 
grimy-armed  individual  was  holding  the 
leg  of  a  horse  between  his  knees,  ami  tit- 
ting  a  hissing  shoe  to  the  hoof  which  he 
had  just  pared. 

"  Well,  neighbor,"  Daddy  Welles  said, 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


sweetly  smiling,  "something  seems  to  be 
agoin'  on  in  town  to-day." 

The  blacksmith  looked  up  and  laughed. 

"  I  believe  you,  Daddy.  It's  the  rev- 
enue collectors.  Look  out  for  yourself." 

"  I'm  agoin'  to ;  but  you  don't  mean 
they'd  come  after  a  poor  man  like  me  ?" 

''  Well,  I  ruther  think  they  will.  Rich 
and  poor  are  all  the  same  when  they're 
after  the  taxes" 

The  blacksmith  emphasized  the  last 
words,  and  seemed  to  enjoy  them,  for 
some  reason  best  known  to  himself.  His 
smile  expanded  into  a  grin,  and  he  and 
Daddy  Welles  exchanged  glances. 

"  How  many  of  'em  ?"  the  latter  asked, 
in  a  tone  of  mild  interest. 

"About  a  dozen ;  and  they  say  they've 
got  troops  coming  on." 

"Troops!  Well,  that  will  be  some- 
thing new.  Haven't  seen  the  blue-coats 
sense  the  year  '65.  It'll  be  quite  like  old 
times  —  quite  like  old  times,"  repeated 
Daddy  Welles,  smiling,  as  in  fond  remem- 
brance of  past  joys. 

"  Well,  they  won't  be  strangers  to  you, 
Daddy  Welles.  If  people  tell  the  truth 
you  had  a  hand  more  than  once  in  bush- 
whacking Sheridan's  troopers,  and  were 
worse  on  'em  than  a  hornet.  I  wouldn't 
be  surprised,  now,  if  you  had  at  home  the 
same  musket  —  or  perhaps  it's  a  rifle  — 
that  you  used  to  go  after  'em  with !" 

"  Oh,  you  musn't  believe  these  old 
.  neighbor:  we  are  peaceful  people 
up  in  the  mounting! — Why,  here's  Kur- 
il <y  Jones  on  his  old  sorrel." 

In  fact  Mr.  Barney  Jones,  in  a  suit  of 
wnrn  homespun,  a  weather-heat  en  felt  hat, 
and  heavy  boots,  drawn  up  by  his  short 
stirrup-leathers  at  this  moment  made  his 
appearance  coming  out  of  town,  and  halt- 
ed to  speak  to  his  friends.  He  and  Dad- 
dy Welles  sainted  earh  other,  and  the  lat- 
t<T  went  out  into  the  street. 

"Well  r  the  Daddy  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

"They're  eomin1  to-night,  blast  'em!" 
said  Mr.  Jones,  expectorating  tobacco  juice 
as  he  spoke. 

"  Are  you  certain  ?" 

"Sure  of  it,  Daddy!  Drat  'em!— 
They'll  set  out,  I  hear,  before  sundown." 


Daddy  Welles  mused,  his  countenance} 
illumined  by  an  expression  of  sweet  sat-j 
isfaction. 

"  Well,  they're  not  apt  to  find  much,  I] 
ruther  suppose,  Barney,"  he  said. 

"They'll  find  a  rifle-bullet  if  they  git 
too  near  me,  Daddy,"  said  Mr.  Jones, 
viciously. 

"No,  no!  that's  onreasonable,  Barney. 
Go  on  and  tell  the  boys  to  lay  low  and 
keep  quiet.  Why,  who's  that  yonder, 
walkin'  about  and  talkin'  to  'em  like  lie 
was  one  of  'em — young  Mr.  Lascelles  ?'' 

"  The  same,  Daddy." 

"Is  he  takin'  a  hand  in  this  business? 
What !  I  thought  he  wras  a  neighbor." 

"  He  rnout  be  or  he  mout  not,"  replied 
Mr.  Barney  Jones.  "  He's  lived  half  his 
life  in  forin'  parts,  I'm  told,  but  they  say 
he's  not  agin  us.  You  see  old  Gineral 
Lascelles,  he's  a  magistrate,  and  he  had  toi 
give  'em  sarch  warrants,  and  young  Las- 
celles is  goin'  along,  they  say,  to  see  that  I 
nobody's  meddled  with  that  oughtn't  to 
be." 

"Well,  well!  I'm  glad  of  that,  I 
wouldn't  like  to  think  old  Gineral  Las- 
celles was  onfriendly.  He's  a  friend  to 
the  poor  man.  I'll  go  and  hear  a  little 
of  their  talk." 

"  Better  not,  Daddy." 

"You  think  I'd  better  not,  eh,  Bar- 
ney?" 

"  I  see  the  list,  and  your  name's  on  it, 
Daddy,"  said  Mr.  Barney  Jones,  with  a 
grin. 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  I'd  better  not,"  return- 
ed Daddy  Welles,  witli  resignation  ;  "and 
I  reckon  it's  time  for  me  and  Nelly  to  be 
goin'  back  to  the  mounting.  She's  about 
through  by  this  time." 

And  saluting  his  friend  the  Daddy  re- 
turned to  the  grocery  store,  from  whi<-h 
he  soon  afterward  reappeared  laden  with 
bundles  which  he  deposited  in  his  wagon. 
He  then  assisted  Nelly  to  her  seat,  and 
was  about  to  get  up  himself,  but  seemed 
to  change  his  mind. 

11  Hold  the  reins,  Nelly,  and  mind  the, 
old  mare,"  he  said;  "I'll  be  back  direct- 
ly/' 

lie  then  strolled  up  to  the  tavern  and 


VIRGINIA 

I  his  acquaintances  in  a  friendly 
manner.  At  sight  of  him  a  general 
smile  expanded  upon  all  visages,  and  one 
of  his  friends  whispered, 

"Take  care,  Daddy  ! — they're  on  your 
track!" 

"You  don't  say!"  said  the  Daddy, 
htanquilly. 

"  They'll  be  at  your  house  by  night. 
There's  nigh  a  dozen,  and  they're  armed." 

"  Well,  well ;  seems  to  me  the  war's 
be^innin'  over  again.  And  troops! — 
there's  troops  not  far  off,  if  wanted." 

"They  say  they  will  be  here  to-mor- 
few." 

"  Well,  well,  well !  who  would  'a  thought 
it  ?  Is  there  goin'  to  be  another  Confed- 
'rate  business,  neighbor?  Hard  times! 
hard  times !" 

And,  apparently  overcome  by  forebod- 
ings of  future  suffering  for  his  country, 
Daddy  Welles  shook  his  head  sadly  and 
returned  to  his  wagon.  Before  he  could 
whip  up  his  old  mare  a  person  in  undress 
official  costume  approached  him  quietly, 
and  said, 

"  Your  name  is  Welles  ?" 

"  Did  anybody  tell  you  that,  friend  2" 
said  the  Daddy. 

"  No  matter  who  told  me.  Come  with 
me  to  the  tavern." 

"  Come  to  the  tavern  !  —  what  fur, 
frieud  ?" 

"  That's  my  business.     Come  along." 

"Have  you  got  a  warrant  for  my  ar- 
rest, friend  ?  If  so,  I'm  a  peaceful  citizen 
and  regard  the  laws." 

"  No  matter  about  a  warrant.  No,  I've 
got  no  warrant,  but  you're  to  come  with 
me." 

Daddy  Welles  shook  his  head  with  a 
peaceful  smile. 

"Can't  spare  the  time  now,  friend. 
My  old  'oman's  at  home  by  herself,  and 
it's  nigh  sundown." 

And  quietly  touching  his  mare  with 
the  whip  Daddy  Welles  departed,  appar- 
ently taking  his  leisure,  to  the  great  dis- 
gust and  wrath  of  the  official,  who  did 
not  venture  to  stop  him.  The  wagon 
slowly  followed  the  road  through  the 
Gap.  Daddy  Welles  was  smiling. 


"  What  did  he  mean  by  \\  ant  iiiur  \  •  >\i 
to  £0  bark  with  him,  father.'"  >aid  Nelly. 

11  Well,  only  some  of  their  eontraption->, 
Nelly — a  little  matter  of  business.  P,ut 
I  hadn't  time  to-day. —  Did  you  "-it  that 
cloth  for  your  cloak,  Nelly  *  Why,  it's 
beautiful !" 

And,  displaying  her  purchases,  the 
daughter  of  Eve  forgot  all  about  the 
incident. 


XXXI. 

MOONSHINERS. 

As  the  sun  was  sinking  a  party  of 
about  a  dozen  horsemen  rode  out  of  Pied- 
mont, and  proceeded  westward  at  a  round 
pace  through  the  Gap  in  the  Blue  Kiduv. 

These  horsemen  were  internal  revenue 
employes,  going  to  break  up  illicit  dis- 
tilleries of  spirit  in  the  mountain  and  ar- 
rest the  malefactors.  At  their  head  rode 
a  portly  gentleman,  the  maishal  of  the 
district,  and  beside  him  was  Mr.  Douglas 
Lascelles,  whose  presence  had  been  accu- 
rately accounted  for  by  Mr.  Barney  Jones. 
General  Lascelles  having  been  applied  to 
as  a  justice  of  the  peace  for  seaivh  warrants 
had  granted  them,  but  requested  his  son 
to  accompany  the  party  and  see  that  un- 
offending persons  were  subjected  to  no 
improper  annoyance. 

The  marshal  was  in  a  very  bad  humor, 
lie  had  made  more  than  one  foray  on  the 
"moonshiners,"  as  the  illicit  distillers 
were  called,  but  always  without  result. 
Intimations  had  thereupon  reached  him 
from  head-quarters  that  he  was  r.  -Carded  as 
wanting  in  efficiency.  Hence  indignation, 
and  a  fixed  resolution  to  break  up  the  ille- 
gal establishments  if  they  could  be  dis- 
covered. But  this,  unfortunately,  was  the 
trouble.  The  stills  were  known  to  be  in 
the  recesses  of  the  mountain,  but  it  was 
not  probable  that  they  would  easily  be  dis- 
covered, unless  there  was  treaehery.  Of 
that,  however,  there  was  small  hope.  The  . 
moonshiners  were  popular.  They  sup- 
plied spirits  to  their  neighbors  at  half  the 
cost  of  the  taxed  article.  They  were  of- 
ten men  of  good  character,  and  otherwise 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


observers  of  the  law ;  and  the  manufact- 
ure of  "  moonshine  whiskey  "  was  gener- 
ally laughed  at,  and  regarded  as  only  the 
harmless  evasion  of  an  oppressive  Federal 
excise.  The  plausible  view  was  taken 
that  these  honest  people  were  only  mak- 
ing "a  little  something"  for  their  fami- 
lies in  a  quiet  way,  without  injury  to  any- 
body. They  were  good  ex-Confederates, 
impoverished  by  the  war.  "What  harm 
was  there  in  privately  distilling  their  own 
grain  ?  They  ate  and  sold  it  in  the  form 
of  bread;  why  not  allow  them  to  drink 
and  sell  it  in  the  form  of  whiskey  ?  Be- 
tray them  to  the  Federal  officials?  It 
was  absurd! 

"A  disagreeable  business,  Mr.  Las- 
celles  !"  said  the  marshal,  in  great  ill-hu- 
mor. "These  fellows  are  worse  than 
foxes,  and  are  real  desperadoes,  I  hear, 
ready  to  resist,  arms  in  hand.  Luckily, 
my  men  arc  armed,  and  if  there  is  resist- 
ance it  will  be  at  the  peril  of  the  mis- 
creants." 

"  They  are  said  to  be  peaceful  people," 
said  Mr.  Lascelles,  indifferently. 

"  Peaceful !  You  deceive  yourself,  sir. 
They  are  a  desperate  set.  Did  you  read 
the  account  in  the  papers  the  other  day 
of  the  troubles  in  East  Tennessee  and 
Virginia  ?  The  collectors  were  fired 
on  from  the  crags  of  the  mountains,  and 
one  of  them  killed.  A  murder,  sir !  and 
the  men  who  commit  murder  are  mur- 
derers." 

The  marshal  grew  red  in  the  face  as  he 
thus  denounced  the  moonshiners. 

"They  are  just  as  bad  here,  I  have  not 
the  least  doubt,"  he  added  ;  "and  I  see 
well  enough  that  they  an-  Mipportcd  by 
popular  sentiment.  The  war  antagonism 
has  not  died  out.  The  Federal  <>Hieials 
are  looked  upon  a-  Federal  soldiers  com- 
ing back  in  citi/ens1  dress  t«>  <>]>en  war 
anew  on  the  'good  old  Confederate-'/ 
It  is  dej.loral.le,  sir!  Tin;  law  mu>t  be 
obeyed — but  how  enforce  it  ?" 

"That  Menu  to  be  the  problem/'  -aid 
Mr.  Lascelles,  with  the  same  indifferent 
air.  In  fact,  he  was  scarcely  listening  t<> 
the  marshal.  lie  had  accompanied  the 
party  in  accordance  with  the  request  of 


General  Lascelles,  but  cared  little  or  notli 
ing,  apparently,  for  the  result. 

"  A  perfect  wild-goose  chase,  sir !"  tbJ 
marshal    exclaimed.      "  How    are  we   t« 
discover  these  illicit  distilleries?     No  ont 
will  inform  on  the  law-breakers.     TheU 
are  all  in  league  together.     Not  a  mar; 
woman,  or    child    will    open    their    lips=) 
Ask  them  questions,  and  you  have  a  laugi 
for  your  pains,  Mr.  Lascelles !     They  aril 
banded  together  in  one  great  conspiracjj 
against  the  law,  and  it  was  only  with  thj 
greatest    difficulty   that   I   obtained   th| 
names  of  some  who  are  suspected." 

"You  have  the  names?" 

"  Yes.  Here  is  a  list.  You  can  loollj 
at  it." 

Mr.  Lascelles  took  the  paper  and  rani 
his  eye  over  it. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  returning  it  with  ;d 
careless  air. 

"And  the  names  are  all.  There's  nofl 
a  particle  of  evidence  against  them.  Tliidj 
name  at  the  head  is  that  of  the  leader  ol 
them,  I  hear — a  certain  Daddy  Welles,  al 
he  is  called — and  the  Barney  Jones  meni] 
tioned  is  said  to  be  his  head  man." 

"  Well,  I  know  nothing  of  them.  Thesl 
names  are  all  ?" 

"  All,  with  the  exception  of  a  gang  ol 
tramps,  who  are  said  to  have  established! 
their  head-quarters  on  the  farm  of  a  Mrl 
Cary — who,  for  that  matter,  may  be  in  al-' 
liance  with  the  moonshiners.  Their  presl 
ence  on  his  land  is  suspicious." 

"  I  know  Colonel  Cary,  and  think  it 
improbable  that  he  has  anything  to  dol 
with  the  moonshine  people." 

"  Well,  to  be  frank  with  you,  I  suspect) 
everybody,  and  will  form  my  own  opinion; 
from  what  I  see.  I  am  a  stranger  in  this) 
region,  and  have  had  the  greatest  trouble) 
in  obtaining  directions  where  to  find  the! 
homes  of  these  people.  We  must  be) 
near  the  first  I  propose  to  visit — that  off 
the  man  Welles.  That  is  the  house  yon-l 
der,  probably." 

The  marshal  pointed  to  what  was,  irn 
fact,  the  residence  of  Daddy  Welles,  and 
turned  into  the  mountain -road  leading' 
up  to  it.  The  cortege  followed  him,  nndj 
side  by  side  he  and  Mr.  Lascelles  rode 


VIRGINIA    r.oIIKMIANS. 


97 


up  to  the  gate  in  the  fence,  where  they 
dismounted. 

Tlie  sun  had  just  sunk  behind  the  fringe 
of  wo.»ds  on  the  summit  of  the  opposite 
raiiLLV.  and  dusk  was  drawing  on.  There 
was  n<>  moonlight  yet,  but  the  star-  were 
beginning  to  twinkle  in  the  blue  sky  to 
:  ;,  mellowing  into  purple  and  orange 

as  it  extended  westward  toward  the  rosy 
flush  above  the  pines.  The  marshal 
opened  the  small  gate,  walked  up  to  the 
pon-h,  followed  by  Mr.  Lascelles,  and 
knocked  at  the  door. 

Paddy  Welles  promptly  appeared,  and 
greeted  his  visitors  with  an  amiable  smile. 

"Is  your  name  Welles?"  said  the  mar- 
shal, referring  to  the  paper  which  he  held 
in  his  hand— "Daddy  Welles?" 

"They  do  call  me  that  sometimes, 
friend,'1  said  the  Daddy,  mildly.  "  Won't 
you  come  in  ?" 

"  I  wish  to  see  you,  sir,"  the  marshal 
said,  in  a  curt  voice.  "  I  am  informed 
that  you  are  connected  with  the  illicit 
distillation  of  whiskey  in  this  mountain." 

"  Why,  what  could  have  put  such  an 
idee  in  your  head,  friend  ?  But  come  in, 
come  in ;  the  nights  are  gittin'  cold,  and 
I've  got  a  tech  of  the  rheumatiz — come 
in,  friend." 

With  which  Daddy  Welles  led  the 
way  into  the  sitting-room  on  the  right, 
where  Elliot  and  Nelly  were  conversing 
by  a  small  fire,  and  Mrs.  Welles  knitting 
opposite. 

"  Set  down,  set  down,"  said  the  Daddy, 
cheerfully ;  and  addressing  Elliot,  he  add- 
ed, in  dulcet  tones,  "  Jest  to  think — these 
gentlemen  are  after  moonshine  whiskey 
men,  and  think  I'm  one  of  'em.  What  a 
queer  idee !" 

Thereat  the  Daddy  laughed,  and  the 
whole  mystery  flashed  on  Elliot.  The 
word  "  queer  "  sent  his  mind  back  to  the 
talk  with  the  stage-driver,  who  had  used 
the  very  term,  and  here  at  last  was  the  ex- 
planation— Daddy  Welles  was  a  "  moon- 
shiner !" 

The  marshal  declined  the  proffered 
seat. 

"  It  is  my  disagreeable  duty  to  arrest 
you,  Mr.  Welles,"  he  said,  in  his  curt  offi- 
7 


cial  voice,  "and  to  search  your  house  f,.r 
evidence  of  your  complicity  in  these  ille- 
gal proceed!  u '_TS." 

"  To  l.e  sure/'  the  Daddy  n>p<,nd<'d, 
cheerfully.  "  1'Yaps  you've  got  a  sarch 
warrant?" 

M  11. -re  it  if." 

Daddy  Welles  spelled  it  over  carefully, 
and  returned  it. 

"  That's  accordin'  to  law,  friend.  Bet- 
ter begin  at  the  cellar." 

With  this  business-like  observation  he 
took  one  of  the  candles  from  tin-  taMe 
and  preceded  the  marshal,  who  followed 
him.  The  cellar  was  first  inspected,  and 
then  all  the  rooms  in  succession,  after 
which  the  Daddy  suggested  that  then- 
was  the  stable  and  the  cow-house.  It 
was  perfectly  plain,  however,  that,  wheth- 
er innocent  or  guilty,  Daddy  Welles  was 
prepared  for  the  enemy,  and  the  marshal 
declined  to  search  farther. 

"This  is  all  a  farce  !"  he  growled ;  "  you 
are  warned.  Well,  get  your  horse  and 
go  with  me." 

"  To  be  sure,"  said  the  Daddy,  cheer- 
fully ;  "  it's  agin  law  to  arrest  a  peaceful 
citizen  in  the  bosom  of  his  famly;  but, 
bless  you,  I  don't  mind  that." 

The  Daddy  then  retired,  and  soon  re- 
appeared wrapped  in  an  old  overcoat, 
stating  that  he  was  ready,  and  a  few 
minutes  afterward  the  party  were  again 
on  their  wray,  leaving  Brantz  Elliot  in  a 
state  of  bewilderment  at  the  whole  scene. 

A  ride  of  half  a  mile  brought  them 
to  the  small  residence  of  Mr.  r>arn<-y 
Jones,  who,  hearing  the  clatter  of  hoofs, 
made  his  appearance  armed  with  a  gun, 
which  he  directed  toward  the  group,  de- 
manding who  they  were,  and  expro-in^ 
his  intention  to  blow  their  heads  off  un- 
less the  question  was  speedily  answered. 

"Put  up  your  shootin'  iron,  Barney/' 
Daddy  Welles  called  out ;  "  it's  only  a  few 
friends  come  to  see  you." 

Thereupon  Mr.  Jones  lowered  his  weap- 
on, cheerfully  observing,  as  they  dis- 
mounted and  approached,  that  he  had 
come  mighty  nigh  blowin'  their  heads 
off,  as  tramps  were  prowlin'  round. 
Learning  their  business,  he  gave  a  dra- 


98 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


matic  start  of  astonishment,  and  mani- 
fested a  strong  desire,  judging  from  the 
expression  of  his  face,  to  perform  the 
blowing-off  ceremony  on  general  princi- 
ples; but,  having  been  reduced  to  a 
peaceful  state  of  mind  by  Daddy  Welles, 
he  expressed  entire  willingness,  nay,  the 
utmost  anxiety,  to  have  his  premises 
searched,  assisted  in  every  manner,  and 
professed  himself  rather  pleased  than 
otherwise  at  being  arrested. 

So  Mr.  Barney  Jones  swelled  the  cor- 
tege when  it  departed,  and  accompanied 
the  party  on  its  rounds  to  the  residences 
of  other  suspected  persons,  whose  prem- 
ises were  searched  with  an  equally  unsuc- 
cessful result.  No  more  arrests  were 
made.  It  was  plain  that  the  marshal 
was  weary  of  what  he  had  styled  his 
"  wild  -  goose  chase."  The  night  was 
chill,  and  he  probably  had  visions  of  a 
warm  fireside  at  the  Piedmont  tavern, 
with  something  hot  to  promote  his  circu- 
lation, and  would  not  have  inquired  too 
curiously  whether  it  had  paid  the  revenue 
tax  or  not. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Lascelles,"  he  said  at  length, 
"  I  think  I'll  go  back.  This  is  all  moon- 
shine and  no  moonshiners.  There  is  one 
other  place — only  the  house  occupied  by 
the  tramps  on  Mr.  Gary's  estate.  We 
will  return  by  that  route,  if  Mr.  Welles 
will  direct  us." 

"To  be  sure,"  said  Daddy  Welles, 
'•  we're  most  in  sight  of  it  now.  It'scall- 
ed  Crow's  Nest,  and  yonder  I  see  a  light 
burnin'  —  or  pYaps  it's  the  firelight. 
That's  the  house." 

They  had  forded  the  stream,  and  were 
returning  over  the  farm-road  leading  by 
Crow's  Nest  and  "Falling  Water"  to  the 
bridgf  o\vr  the  stream  on  the  road  to 
the  Gap.  In  five  minutes  they  were  at 
the  foot  of  the  hill;  and,  dismounting, 
the  marshal,  accompanied  by  I  >addv 
Welles,  Mr.  Jones,  and  Mr.  Lasrelles,  made 
his  way  up  the  path  to  the  door. 


XXXII. 


MR.  LASCELLES   MEETS   AN    OLD   ACQUAINT- 
ANCE. 

THE  marshal  went  up  to  the  door  <i 
the  house  and  bestowed  a  thundering 
knock  upon  it  with  the  butt  of  his  ric 
ing-whip. 

"  Who  is  there  ?"  said  a  voice  froii 
within. 

"  Open — in  the  name  of  the  law !"  sail 
the  marshal,  with  impatience. 

Deliberate  steps  were  heard  approaclj 
ing  the  door,  a  bolt  was  drawn,  the  doci 
opened,  and  the  burly  figure  of  the  Left 
hander  appeared  upon  the  threshold.  II .1 
powerful  frame  was  lit  up  by  the  fireligl'- 
from  the  broad  chimney,  around  whic; 
were  grouped  the  other  members  of  till 
little  family. 

The  marshal  looked  keenly  at  the  Lefj 
hander.  He  was  evidently  struck  by  hij 
gladiatorial  proportions,  and  the  iixe 
gaze  of  the  dark  eyes  under  the  shaggl 
brows :  but  as  the  marshal  was  a  businea 
man,  and  had  come  on  business,  he  pro 
cceded  to  it  without  delay. 

"  I  have  a  warrant  to  search  this  hous 
for  illicit  spirit,"  he  said,  "and  to  anv-t  it 
occupants,  if  I  see  reason  to  connect  then 
with  a  violation  of  the  revenue  laws." 

The  Lefthander  did  not  reply.  He  wa. 
looking  at  Mr.  Lascelles,  who  was  stand 
ing  behind  the  marshal.  It  was  a  somd 
what  singular  look ;  not  one  of  surprise  ii 
the  least,  or  indicative  indeed  of  any  cleai 
ly  defined  sentiment  whatever.  Nevcrthd 
less  there  was  a  covert  fire  in  the  dar, 
eyes,  which  betrayed  some  latent  emotioj 
which  the  owner  of  the  eyes,  by  a  stronj 
effort  of  his  will,  suppressed.  As  t»»  Mr 
La^i -files,  he  looked  at  the  Lefthandej 
with  utter  astonishment.  He  had  change* 
color  slightlv,  and  his  eyelids  l,;ld  sudden' 
ly  r'lM'ii,  as  though  he  had  seen  a  ghost 
Mr.  La>« -flics  was  a  gentleman  of  so  muc',; 
self-possession,  and  commanded  his  feel 
iiiLjs  so  thoroughly  on  ordinary  occasions 
that  this  distended  expression  of  the  pd 
pils  of  his  eyes,  and  the  change  of  coloi 
were  circumstances  of  the  most  surprising 
character. 


til 


YI1KJINIA   KOIIKMIANS. 


"  Ottcndorfcr !" 

The  word  e>caped  from  his  lips  uncon- 
SL'iously,  without  an  effort  of  the  will. 

"  Make  way  !"  exclaimed  the  marshal, 
•it  ill-humor.  "I  have  no  time  t«> 
in  all  these  parleys." 

Ami  he  pushed  into  the  apartment, 
leaving  Mr.  Lascelles  and  the  Lefthander 
face  to  face. 

"  Then  it  was  yon,  after  all — at  the  cir- 
iid  Mr.  Lascelles,  in  a  low  voice. 
"I  thought  I  was  mistaken." 

••  Yes,  it  was  me,"  said  the  Lefthander, 
with  his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  his  compan- 
ion, and  speaking  in  his  phlegmatic  voice. 

"And  not  your  ghost!"  Mr.  Lascelles 
said,  trying  to  laugh,  but  completely  fail- 
ing. 

•  NTo,  not  my  ghost  in  the  least — my- 
self." 

"You  are  not  with  that  circus  com- 
pany now  ?" 

"I  have  left  it. 

"Your  object?" 

"  It  is  my  business." 

"And  you  are  living  in  this  house?" 

"Yes." 

Mr.  Lascelles  attempted  a  careless  per- 
formance with  his  riding-whip  upon  his 
boot,  but  failed  in  it.  He  had  grown  a 
little  pale.  He  stood  for  some  moments 

•hout  uttering  a  word.     He  then  said, 


making  a  strong  effort  to  speak  coolly, 
"I  should  like  to  ask  you  some  quea- 
ns.    You,  no  doubt,  understand  why  I 
wish  to  ask  them." 

"  Y--S,"  said  the  Lefthander,  "  I  can  un- 
derstand that." 

"  They  will  overhear  us  here,  and  the 
marshal  will  go  back  in  ten  minutes. 
Meet  me  to-morrow,  say  at  sunset,  at  the 
bridge  on  the  stage-road.  "Will  you  do 
so?" 

"  Yes,"  said  the  Lefthander. 
This  was  all  that  passed  between  them. 
They  went  into  the  house,  where  the  mar- 
il,  in  a  worse  and  worse  humor  at  his 
fruitless  search  for  moonshiners  and  moon- 


shine whiskey,  was  interrogating  Gentle- 
man Joe. 

He  had  advanced  toward  the  group  in 
front  of  the  fire,  and  said,  curtly, 


"You  are  tramps,  and,  as  sneh, 
cious  characters.      Your  names,  <>r 
nation,  at  least,  are  on   my  li>t,  as  mrm- 
ben  of  a  u-aipj;  engaged  in  illi.-it  distilling. 
I  am  here  to  M-areh  this  house  and 
your    A\h<»le    party.       Light    me    in    my 
search." 

"With    pleasure,  sir,"  (lentleman    .!..•• 
responded;  "  there  arc  only  the  Lai 
— we  are  new  residents,  and  the  house  is 
not  yet  furnished." 

As  Gentleman  Joe  smiled  while  utter- 
ing these  words,  the  marshal  considered 
that  he  was  being  trifled  with. 

"Light  me!"  he  said,  with  asperity. 

"  We  have  no  candles,  sir,"  Gentleman 
Joe  politely  replied,  "but  a  brand  will 
perhaps  answer.  Be  good  enough  to  fol- 
low me." 

The  marshal  looked  with  curiosity  at 
the  tramp  who  addressed  him  in  such 
terms.  Gentleman  Joe,  however,  did  not 
notice  the  look.  Stooping  down  he  took 
a  flaming  pine -knot  from  the  fire,  and 
went  before  the  marshal,  lighting  up  the 
deserted  rooms  one  after  another. 

"  There  is  nothing  here,  you  observe, 
sir,"  said  Gentleman  Joe,  entering  one  of 
the  rooms  on  the  second  story ;  "  nothing 
but  what  I  can  see." 

""What  you  can  see?  "What  do  you 
mean  ?" 

Gentleman  Joe  shook  his  head  with 
sudden  sadness. 

"  I  see  many  things  here  which  other 
people  do  not,"  he  said.     "There 
cradle  yonder  once." 

"  A  cradle !" 

"Under  the  window.  It  had  a  little 
baby  in  it.  I  can  see  the  cradle  now,  and 
the  baby,  too." 

As  he  spoke,  his  voice  trembled  and 
his  eyes  filled  with  tears.  He  was  look- 
ing with  a  vague  glance  at  the  sp.-t  which 
he  had  indicated  as  that  where  the  cradle 
formerly  stood. 

"Yes,  it  was  there,"  he  murmured, 
"  and  she  was  leaning  over  the  baby  sing- 
ing. The  chair  she  used  to  sit  in  stood 
there  by  the  side  of  the  fireplace — why, 
there  she  is  sitting  in  it  now !" 

The  marshal  suddenly  retreated  in  the 


100 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


direction  of  the  door-way.  The  deserted 
house,  the  darkness  lit  up  only  by  the 
flaming  torch,  and  the  weird  figure  of  his 
companion,  produced  a  disagreeable  effect 
upon  his  nerves.  He  measured  the  dis- 
tance to  the  ground  through  the  paneless 
windows.  He  had  little  doubt  that  his 
companion  was  a  lunatic,  and  he  might 
prove  dangerous  —  lunatics  were  often 
seized  with  the  idea  of  clutching  their 
fancied  foes,  and  leaping  with  them  to 
destruction  on  such  occasions.  The 
worthy  marshal  therefore  exclaimed  hast- 

i'y, 

"Yes,  yes  —  I  understand.  Farther 
search  is  useless." 

AVith  which  he  beat  a  hasty  retreat 
down  the  creaking  stairs  to  the  room 
below,  where  Daddy  Welles  was  stand- 
ing with  his  back  to  the  fire  warming 
himself,  and  conversing  in  a  low  tone 
with  Mr.  Barney  Jones  and  Harry.  On 
the  reappearance  of  the  official  he  greet- 
ed him  with  a  cheerful  smile,  and  said, 

"Did  you  find  any  of  the  moonshine 
article,  friend  ?" 

"None  at  all  —  I  might  have  known 
that — you  are  all  in  collusion  with  each 
otlnT,'7  the  marshal  replied,  in  great  ill- 
humor. 

"  What  an  idee !"  responded  the  Dad- 
dy, smiling. 

"  I'm  tired  of  the  whole  business  and 
ing  In  inn-.  "NVho  are  these  people? 
Train p>?  What  right  have  they  to  be 
tivsp.-i— iii'_r  here?" 

"  Squire  Gary  lets  'em  stay,  I'm  told, 
friend.  But  that's- none  o'  my  business." 

"  \..r  <»f  mine.  Come  on;  I'm  going 
back.  What  am  I  to  do  with  these 
people?  1  can't  arnM  lunatics  and  chil- 
dren, and  these  men  have  no  ln>r- 

"To  say  nothin'  of  havin'  n<>tlfm' 
aginst  'em,  friend." 

"Mr.  Welles/'  said  tlie  marshal,  sar- 
donically, "I  begin  to  think  YOU  an-  a 
l;n\\vr  by  profession.  You  an-  right.  I 
Lave  no  warrant,  t<>  anvst  even  these 
tramps  <>n  Mich  slight  suspicion." 

"  lint  Daddy  \\Ylles  and  poor  liann-y 
— oh  yes!  they're  the  onlucky  one-, 
friend  !  You  can  arrest  them,  and  drag 


'em  off  from  the  bosom  o'  ther  families-; 
but  no  matter !  no  matter !  we'll  be  bad 
to  dinner  to-morrow." 

"  You  seem  certain  of  that,  sir." 
"  Oh,  yes,  I'm  sartain.  You  see  we  j 
sue  out  a  have-his-carcass  by  daylight-j 
or  it  mout  be  on  in  the  day — it's  all  tli! 
same :  we  can  stay  in  jail  for  a  ^  cell 
The  jailor's  a  friend  of  ourn,  and  we'll  bj 
well  keered  for." 

The  marshal  knit  his  brows.  Th| 
Daddy's  remarks  impressed  him  unplcasj 
antly.  He  designed  leaving  PiedmorJ 
after  breakfast  on  the  next  morning,  bj 

O' 

a  writ  of  habeas  corpus — evidently  mean 
by  the  phrase  "  havc-his-carcass  " — woull 
necessitate  an  unpleasant  delay. 

"It's  a  fine  thing,  a  very  fine  tl.iiui 
that  have  -  his  -  carcass,"  said  Daddj 
Welles,  regarding  the  ceiling  of  thj 
room  with  an  air  of  contemplation 
"and  then  there's  no  evidence  agifl 
us — no  evidence  at  all." 

"That's  true!"  muttered  the  roarshn 
irritably ;  "  the  old  rascal  is  a  bettcj 
lawyer  than  all  of  us!" 

"But  I  s'pose  there's  no  law  the! 
hard  times — no  law  at  all !"  mused  thl 
Daddy,  sotto  vocc.  "  We  poor  people  ol 
ole  Virginny  ain't  got  no  rights  v  ut 
speakin'  of.  The  law's  made  for  th 
1'yal  people,  not  for  us  poor  rebs — we'll 
out  in  the  cold." 

The  marshal  knit  his  brows.  lie  waj 
a  thorough  respecter  of  the  laws,  and  haJ 
come  to  see  them  enforced ;  but  lion-  wa; 
tin-  charge  brought  that  the  law  was  j>ai] 
tial  and  oppressive,  since  it  operated  unj 
equally  and  unfairly  on  different  classell 

"Well,"  Daddy  Welles  said,  cheerfulKj 
"there's  the  have- his -carcass,  after  m 
1  reckon  it  won't  take  more'n  a  week,  o 
max  he  a  fort///'/////,  to  git  a  poor  body  od 
of  jail  and  let  him  see  his  friends  and 
fam'ly  agin." 

The  marshal  succumbed,  and,  in  spit) 
of  his  ill-humor,  felt  a  disposition  tj 
laugh. 

"  I-Yiend  Welles,"  he  said,  "would  yo 
like  me  to  say  an  honest  word  to  von 
that  expresses  exactly  how  I  feel  towarJ 
you?" 


VIRGINIA   BOHKMIAXS. 


"To  be  sure,  friend." 
••  \\Y11,  1  am  tiivil  of  you,  and  of  ev- 
tliiiiiX  eoimected  with  you.     Thi'iv's  a 
hiii'4'  called  a  wild-goose  errand,  and  l'\e 
ae  upon  it.     And,  as  1  am  speaking  of 
-.-If  in  terms  not  very  complimentary, 
lake  the  liberty  of  comparing  you  to 
its  i  fox.      \\  *'  .'ire  fox  and  gooso,  you  see, 
illund  the  fox  lias  the  best  of  it.     Get  on 
ir  horse — you  and  your  friend  Barney 
:ies,  confound  him! — and  go  home  and 
to  bed,  and  go  to  sleep.     I  mean  to 
ion  io  the  same." 

bit     He  turned  his  back  on  the  group  and 
m  flrent  out  of  the  house,  followed  by  Mr. 
d:  Lascelles,  who  exchanged  a  look  with  the 
ihander,  apparently  to  remind  him  of 
engagement.     Daddy  Welles,  follow- 
Mng  them  to  the  bottom  of  the  hill,  took 
dim  affectionate  leave  of  them. 
iosl    "Good-night,  friend,  good-night!"  the 
iolDaddy  said,  bestowing  all  the  treasures 
his  guileless  smile  upon  the  marshal. 
n  glad  to  git  back  to  my  ole  'oman — 
ie  must  be  oneasy.     It's  jest  as  well  to 
be  at  home  and  asleep  in  bed — though, 
if  tor  all,  it  wouldn't  'a  made  much  differ- 
snce,  on  account  o'  the  have-his-carcass." 
"Curse  the  have-his-carcass,  and  the 
whole  concern   of  you !"   exclaimed  the 
ite  marshal. 
"Oh  no !"  the  Daddy  retorted,  shaking 
liis  head  in  pious  reproof ;  "  don't  curse, 
friend !  it's  agin  the  Good  Book,  and  never 
i  body  any  good.     Well,  well,  yon 
must  come  agin — wre  poor  mounting  peo- 
ple like  to  meet  with  strangers — it  sort  o' 
>tirs  us  up  and  puts  us  in  good  spcrits. 
If  I  hear  anything  of  them  moonshiners 
I  miii'ht  drop  you  word — the  business  's 
unlawful." 

"Go  to  the  devil,  you  old  fox !"  roared 
the  marshal,  in  huge  wrath,  as  he  mount- 
ed his  horse. 

"  Oh  no  !  I  wouldn't  like  to  go  there," 
said  the  Daddy,  shaking  his  head  sadly ; 
"  there's  no  have-his-carcass  there.  Come 
?n,  Barney.  Good -night,  friend.  If  I 
was  in  your  place,  I'd  git  back  to  Pied- 
mont before  the  night  grows  late.  They 
lo  say  the  moonshiners  shoot  at  people 
sometimes  when  they  wear  a  han'sum  uni- 


form like  yours.      But  maybe  th.. 
true.      Good-night — good-night  !" 

R-iddy  "Welles  and  Uarm-y  ,Ioin-s  then 
rode  a\\ay  toward  the  ford,  and  the  mar- 
shal, with  Mr.  La.M-elles  and  his  retinue,  to- 
ward the  Stage  road  leadii:  imoiit. 


XXXIII. 

MR.  LASCELLES    KEEPS    HIS    APPOINTMENT. 

WHEN  Mr.  Lascelles  reached  Wyr  the 
family  had  all  retired,  and  he  went  to  his 
chamber,  where  he  divested  himself  of  his 
riding-coat  and  boots,  and  put  on  a  ilo\\- 
ered  dressing-gown  and  a  handsome  pair 
of  slippers.  lie  then  stretched  himself 
in  an  easy-chair  in  front  of  the  fire,  and 
fell  into  reflection. 

These  reflections  were  evidently  un- 
pleasant. In  fact,  Mr.  Lascelles  had  not 
regained  the  color  which  he  had  lo>t  in 
his  brief  interview  with  the  Lefthander. 
It  might  even  be  said  that  he  grew  a  lit- 
tle paler  now  as  he  mused.  This  was  un- 
usual with  him.  He  rarely  gave  way  to 
emotion.  To  move  him  so  much  some- 
thing singular  was  required — and  this 
was  probably  the  unexpected  meeting  at 
Crow's  Nest. 

Now  and  then  he  muttered  disconnect- 
ed words,  as  people  will  when  they  arc 
alone  and  occupied  by  absorbing  thoughts. 
From  these  disjecta  membra  of  speech  it 
was  possible  to  follow  with  toleral 
curacy  his  train  of  thought.  lie  had 
been  doubly  deceived  as  to  the  Lefthand- 
er. Seeing  him  at  the  circus  performanee 
he  had  doubted  if  it  was  himself ;  but  even 
if  it  were,  he  would  probably  di>app.-ar 
with  the  company  and  be  seen  no  more. 
He  had,  therefore,  dismissed  the  whole 
subject  from  his  mind,  as  the  soldier 
forgets  the  cannon-shot  which  ru-1 
him  without  striking  him  ;  now  when  the 
shot,  having  disappeared,  returned  upon 
its  course,  and  seemed  to  be  coming  point- 
blank  at  him,  he  shuddered  a  litti 
was  no  fancy  at  all.  There  was  the  man 
whom  he  evidently  feared  in  his  near 
vicinity — big,  powerful,  cool — the  Individ- 


102 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


ual,  above  all  others,  whom  no  rational 
person  would  choose  for  an  adversary. 

Were  they  adversaries,  and  if  so,  what 
was  the  explanation  of  their  hostility? 
Mr.  Lascelles  did  not  betray  this  in  his 
disconnected  utterances.  One  thing  how- 
ever was  plain — that  as  he  leaned  back  in 
his  chair  on  this  night,  with  no  desire 
whatever  to  retire  to  bed,  he  was  taking 
down  from  a  private  shelf  of  his  memory 
certain  recollections  long  consigned  to 
oblivion,  and  covered  with  dust,  and  do- 
ing so  far  from  willingly.  Very  plainly 
certain  passages  in  his  life  were  recalled 
to  him  by  his  meeting  with  the  Left- 
hander, and  he  could  not  shake  off  the 
unpleasant  impression  on  his  mind.  This 
was  a  most  unwonted  circumstance.  Mr. 
Lascelles  was  very  much  of  a  philosopher. 
lie  had  an  excellent  stomach,  and  an  ex- 
ceedingly tough  and  serviceable  moral 
epidermis,  which  generally  exempted  him 
from  much  trouble  in  the  way  of  reflec- 
tion. He  had  the  fixed  habit  never  to 
brood  over  the  past,  and  to  regard  it  as  a 
matter  with  which  he  really  had  nothing 
to  do,  in  a  practical  point  of  view.  "Why 
worry  about  it?  It  was  the  past.  He 
frankly  acknowledged  to  himself  that  it 
would  have  been  much  better  if  he  had 
conducted  himself  differently  on  certain 
occasions.  His  judgment  disapproved  of 
the  course  he  had  pursued,  and  he  would 
now  act  in  a  different  manner — probably. 
But  then  there  was  much  to  say  on  the 
other  side.  Young  men  were  young  men 
— they  were  led  by  impulse  often  to  do 
what  it  would  have  been  better  for  them 
not  to  d<> ;  human  nature  was  weak — even 
preachers  and  the  best  people  were  not 
faultless.  On  the  whole,  it  was  bi-st  n<>t 
to  take  things  au  grand  sir'n  »./•,  and  let 
the  dead  past  bury  its  dead,  if  it  had  any 
to  bury. 

Unfortunately  this  convenient  philoso- 
phy did  not  avail  him  at  the  present  mo- 
ment.    It  was  j.lain,  from  the  Mp1 
of  his  face,  that  Mr.  Lascelles  was  con- 
fronted with  a  real  peril,  which  v. 
ferent  from  a  mere  uneasiness  of  the  con- 
science.     The    one   was   theoretical,  tin- 
other  practical.     Here,  rooted  in  his  im- 


mediate neighborhood,  was  a  man  whos< 
eyes,  as  they  looked  at  him,  sent  a  slight 
chill  through  him.     Cool  and  brave  as  h< 
was — and  he  was  both — Mr.  Lascelles  ha« 
not  been  able  to  control  his  emotion  at 
this  meeting. 

It  really  was  painful  to  observe  what  ;! 
moody  and  vicious  knitting  together  oil 
the  brows  ensued  when  Mr.  Lascelles  hacj 
come  to  this  point  in  his  muttering.     A\ 
mingled  expression  of  wrath  and  apprell 
hension    quite    changed    his    handsomcjj 
countenance,  and  made  it   ugly,  and  rel 
pulsive.     He  rose  suddenly  from  his  seatlj 
with  his  right  hand  closed,  as  if  he  went 
grasping  a  weapon,  and  said  aloud, 

"Curse  him!  why  didn't  he  break  hifl 
neck  when  he  fell  from  the  ropes?  ]| 
wish  he  had !" 

He  then  went  to  bed  muttering,  "  I  will 
know  more  to-morrow,"  and  after  awhile] 
fell  asleep. 

On  the  next  morning  he  came  down 
and  joined  the  cheerful  group  around  thcjl 
family  breakfast  -  table  without  a  cloudl 
upon  his  face.     He  had  excellent  nerves,  li 

"  Well,  how  did  your  ride  turn  out J 
Douglas?"  said  the  general,  who  was! 
sipping  Iris  coffee  and  reading  his  morn-|i 
ing  paper.  "Did  you  find  any  of  the! 
moonshiners  ?" 

"None  at  all,  sir — or,  at  least,  none  on 
the  stills." 

"I  thought   so.     I   told  the   marshal' 

& 

he  would  have  his  trouble  for  his  pains. I 
Was  no  one  arrested  ?" 

"  No  one,  sir.  The  marshal  did  takej 
old  Welles  and  a  man  named  Jones  along! 
with  him,  but  released  them/' 

The  general  smiled  and  said, 

"  I  was  pretty  certain  that  would  be 
the  result.  Daddy  Welles  is  a  cunning 
old  fox.  Not  a  bad  man  at  all ;  I  know 
him  very  well  from  having  electioneered 
in  Bohemia,  and  he  is  quite  an  honest 
man.  With  all  his  simplicity,  he  is  more 
than  a  match  for  the  martial." 

"  I  think  he  was,  and  his  friend  Barney 
Jones,  too,  who  seemed  desirous  of  put- 
ting a  bullet  through  somebody." 

"  Yes.  I  know  Barney  Jones,  too.  He 
is  what  is  called  a  hard  subject,  and  I 


VIKCIMA    r.OlII-MIANS. 


103 


should  prefer  not  prowling  around  his 
house  in  tin-  night.  Were  these  two  all  .' 
I  was  applied  to  and  granted  a  search- 
warrant  against  a  gang  of  tramps  on  Col- 
onel Cary's  estate." 

"  We  went  there  but  found  nothing. 
They  are  mere  vagabonds,  and  will  soon 
disappear,  no  doubt." 

"  Where  did  you  iind  them?" 

"  In  the  Crow's  Nest  house." 

"  Ah  !  in  the  Crow's  Nest  house?" 

The  general  had  raised  his  cup  to  his 
lips,  but  set  it  down.  His  face,  which 
had  worn  a  smile  of  amused  interest,  be- 
came all  at  once  thoughtful. 

"  In  the  Crow's  Nest  house  ?"  he  re- 
peated. 

"  It  is  deserted,  you  know,  sir,  and  they 
took  up  their  residence  there — no  doubt 
without  permission  from  Colonel  Cary, 
who  must  be  aware  of  the  danger  of  har- 
boring such  vagabonds." 

General  Lascelles  did  not  reply.  His 
newspaper  was  lying  in  his  lap  and  his 
ere  fixed  upon  the  table.  Then  he 
woke,  as  it  were,  from  his  reverie,  finished 
his  coffee,  and  rising  from  his  seat  went 
slowly  to  the  library.  Mr.  Lascelles  also 
rose,  took  a  cigar  from  his  case,  lit  it,  and 
walked  out  to  the  portico. 

He  remained  at  home  all  day,  smoking 
steadily.  At  dinner,  which  was  about 
four  o'clock,  he  had  a  very  moderate 
appetite,  and  when  he  rose  resumed  his 
cigar.  Then  about  an  hour  before  sunset 
he  ordered  his  horse,  and  rode  slowly  in 
the  direction  of  the  Gap. 

He  went  along  with  his  head  bent  down 
and  his  brows  knit.  There  really  seemed 
to  be  something  the  matter  with  Mr.  Las- 
celles. For  many  years  now  his  brows 
had  not  knit  themselves  together  in  that 
manner. 

He  reached  the  western  opening  of  the 
Gap  and  descended,  following  the  stage- 
road  toward  the  bridge.  As  he  did  so 
he  quietly  put  his  hand  behind  him,  ap- 
parently to  assure  himself  that  he  had  not 
forgotten  something  in  a  rear  pocket. 
The  something  was  there :  it  was  a  Der- 
ringer pistol,  which  Mr.  Lascelles  general- 
ly carried,  in  case  of  accidents. 


He  eainr  in  siicht  of  the  little  wooden 
idgi'  ..ver  the  Falling  \Vatrr  just  as  the 
sun  was  about  to  di>appear  on  the  sum- 
mit of  the  ran-v  above.  In  fa.-t,  it  had 
sunk  so  low  that  the  dead  limb  of  an 
enormous  pine,  extending  horizontally, 
divided  the  ivd  disk.  Long  shadows  ran 
down  the  slope,  ivarhing  far  into  the  val- 
ley of  Bohemia. 

Mr.  Lascelles  came  on  at  a  walk,  with 
his  eyes  still  fixed  upon  the  ground.  He 
seemed  not  to  be  aware  how  near  In-  was 
to  the  bridge  or  to  see  the  shadows.  All 
at  once  the  hoofs  of  his  horse  clattered 
on  the  timbers,  and  he  raised  his  head. 
A  long  shadow  ran  toward  him.  This 
shadow  was  that  of  the  Lefthander,  who 
was  standing  on  the  bridge  waiting  for 
him. 


XXXIV. 

AT    TRIANON. 

Two  days  afterward  Mr.  Lascelles 
mounted  his  horse  and  set  out  for  Tria- 
non. 

He  had  become  a  regular  visitor,  and 
the  excellent  Mrs.  Armstrong's  plan  of 
bringing  about  a  match  between  the 
young  people  seemed  to  be  in  a  fair  way 
of  fulfilment.  Mr.  Lascelles  was  unques- 
tionably smitten — otherwise  so  reserved  a 
person  would  not  have  paid  such  frequent 
visits.  It  was  true  that  there  was  noth- 
ing in  the  demeanor  of  Miss  Juliet  to 
produce  the  impression  that  she  desired 
to  become  Mrs.  Douglas  Lascelles;  hut 
then  Mr.  Douglas  Lascelles  probably 
found  that  piquante,  since  his  vi>its  wen- 
regular  and  prolonged  in  spite  of  it. 

Now  and  then  Mrs.  Ann^tr.>ng  ventured 
to  remonstrate  with  the  young  lady — she 
did  not  venture  very  far.  She  intimated, 
in  an  incidental  manner,  that  at  twenty- 
three  a  maiden  was  in  her  fre-hot  bloom, 
but  that  in  two  or  three  years  thereafter 
the  rose  began  to  change  color  a  little, 
and  a  slight  diminution  of  the  fiv 
followed,  when  the  flower  was  not  so  ac- 
ceptable to  people  as  before.  If  the  rose 
was  meant  for  a  bouquet  in  a  golden 
holder,  it  was  best  to  allow  itself  to  be 


104 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


plucked  in  its  fresh  stage.  .  After  awhile 
no  one  would  care  to  pluck  it,  since  it 
would  be  faded. 

This  was  plain,  and  Miss  Juliet  proba- 
bly understood  it ;  but  she  paid  no  atten- 
tion to  it.  She  received  Mr.  Lascelles 
with  perfect  politeness,  but  with  nothing 
more.  Still,  there  were  the  visits  of  the 
gentleman,  which  he  would  never  continue 
if  he  did  not  hope  the  fair  statue  would 
melt,  and  Mrs.  Armstrong,  who  had  a 
knack  of  hoping,  hoped  for  the  best. 

She  was  a  very  sanguine,  high-spirited, 
and  aspiring  lady,  the  mistress  of  Trianon. 
She  held  her  head  exceedingly  high,  and 
never  lost  sight  of  the  fact  that  the  Arm- 
strongs belonged  to  the  very  best  people. 
AY  hen  she  visited  Piedmont  with  Juliet 
in  her  handsome  family  carriage,  she  and 
her  daughter  were  both  superbly  dressed, 
and  she  treated  the  shop-keepers  with  the 
kindest  condescension.  She  turned  over 
the  goods  in  the  dry-goods  stores  with 
her  little  kid -gloved  hands  with  the  air 
of  a  duchess,  and  it  was  evident  that  she 
regarded  the  persons  of  the  establishment 
as  moving  in  quite  a  different  sphere  from 
herself.  She  was  scrupulously  polite  to 
them,  but  then  it  was  to  be  distinctly  un- 
derstood that  she  was  Mrs.  Armstrong  of 
Trianon,  and  any  dealings  between  them 
must  be  confined  to  the  subject  of  the 
price  of  dry-goods. 

Indeed,  Mrs.  Armstrong  of  Trianon  was 
bent  on  higher  things  than  conciliatin 
popularity  with  the  J'iedmontcse.  AYhat 
she  aimed  at  was  to  spend  her  summers 
in  travel,  and  her  winters  in  Paris,  with 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Douglas  Lascelles.  I  It T  hand- 
some family  coach, which  outraged  the  feel- 
ings of  the  Piedmont  tr«»>ips,  was  a  very 
modest  equipage,  indeed,  in  her  own  eyes, 
compared  with  those  of  her  imagination* 
She  looked  down  with  superb  disdain  on 
her  handsome  wardrobe,  her  rieh  silks  and 
plumes,  and  other  personal  adornments; 
they  were  old-fashioned  and  shabby  in 
the  opinion  of  a  lady  whose  aspiration- 
soared  to  the  serene  empyrean  ruled  over 
by  Mr.  Worth.  Paris  —  dear,  deli^htfu 
]'ari<!  That  was  her  dream,  the  heaven 
of  her  ambition,  and  Mr.  Douglas  Lascelles 


)ossessed  the    golden   key  which  woul 
open  the  golden  door  of  her  Elysium. 

Now,  when  human  beings  are  possessed 
y  any  ardent  desire,  and  are  not  entirely 
certain  that  their  desire  will  be  accom- 
plished, the  result  is  apt  to  be  an  abnor- 
nal  tension  of  the  nervous  system.  Mrs. 
Armstrong  was  not  exactly  a  nervous  per- 
son, and  had  not  the  least  tendency  to- 
ward hysteria,  but  she  had  a  good  healthy 
xcitability  of  temper  in  private,  the  in- 
dulgence of  which  afforded  a  safety  valve 
to  her  pent-up  anxiety.  She  kept  this 
temper  as  a  private  luxury,  never  cheap- 
ening it  by  a  public  exhibition ;  but  as 
an  object  is  necessary  to  the  enjoyment 
of  quarrelling,  Mrs.  Armstrong  sought  for 
it  in  her  own  household.  She  found  it 
there,  but  not  in  the  person  of  Juliet. 
She  never  quarrelled  with  that  young  lady 
under  any  circumstances — it  is  doubtful 
whether  she  did  not  stand  a  little  in  awe 
of  the  maiden.  From  her  earliest  years 
Juliet  had  developed  a  quiet  independence 
of  character  which  was  proof  against  ev- 
ery assault.  It  was  not  an  unamiable 
trait,  or  in  any  manner  disagreeable.  Ju- 
liet was  very  sweet-tempered,  never  utter- 
ed ill-humored  speeches  under  any  circum- 
stances, was  exceedingly  quiet  in  her  man- 
ner, and  quite  devoted  to  her  mother ; 
but  beyond  a  certain  point  Mrs.  Ann- 
strong  had  found  by  long  experience  that 
it  was  useless  to  argue  with  her  or  at- 
tempt to  persuade  her.  Did  this  arise 
from  a  sensitive  delicacy  of  conscience? 
It  did  not  arise  from  obstinacy,  for  Juliet 
was  not  obstinate.  She  was  very  sweet 
and  complying  on  ordinary  occasions,  an  1 
even  if  her  mother  had  been  tempted  to 
vent  her  ill-humor  upon  the  girl,  her  ma- 
ternal tenderness,  which  was  extreme, 
would  have  prevented  her. 

Fortunately  there  was  another  person 
at  Trianon  who  afforded  Mr<.  Armstrong 
an  opportunity  to  relieve  her  feelings — 
M'I-N  l'.a»ick,  her  "companion,"  who-had 
or  had  not  listened  at  the  door  on  the 
(•veiling  of  Mr.  Lascelles1  s  first  visit. 
Mi->  Uassick  was  a  young  lady  of  about 
twenty-five,  and  of  very  striking  appear- 
ance. She  had  a  finely  developed  figure, 


VIRGINIA    nollKMIANS. 


105 


a  superb  suit  of  Lair,  seductive  eyQB, 
which  she  had  a  habit  of  veiling  with 
the  long,  silken  lashi-s  modestly,  and  a 
pair  of  ripe,  pouting  lips,  which  hahitual- 
lv  smiled  and  seemed  to  beg  people  t«>  he 
friendly  to  their  mistress.  In  fact,  Mi-s 
k  needed  friends,  for,  as  she  said, 
she  was  alone  in  the  world.  She  had 
been  consigned  to  Mrs.  Armstrong  from 
an  orphan  asylum  during  her  girlhood, 
and  had  ever  since  remained  with  her  in 
the  character  of  companion  and  house- 
keeper. She  never  dreamed  of  going 
into  society  with  Mrs.  Armstrong.  She 
accepted  her  subordinate  position  with 
perfect  resignation  and  submission,  and 
never,  under  any  circumstances,  lost  her 
temper,  or  was  anything  but  a  model. 

Mrs.  Armstrong,  to  repeat,  was  uncer- 
tain of  temper,  and  though  she  never  box- 
ed Miss  Bassick,  or  used  personal  violence, 
she  had  a  stinging  weapon,  which  cut 
deep — her  tongue.  Of  this  the  lady  was 
a  complete  mistress.  Long  practice  had 
sharpened  it  to  the  keenest  edge,  and  its 
management  had  been  reduced  to  a  sci- 
ence. The  performance  generally  began 
in  the  morning,  when  Mrs.  Armstrong 
rose  and  placed  her  feet  on  the  hand- 
some carpet  of  her  chamber.  On  these 
occasions  Miss  Bassick,  who  was  nomi- 
nally a  companion,  but  also  a  lady's  maid, 
was  promptly  summoned  by  a  small  bell. 
She  would  come  at  once,  leaving  every- 
thing else,  and  assist  the  lady  in  her  toi- 
let. Now,  in  the  morning,  before  break- 
fast, people  are  often  a  little  nervous  and 
ill  -  tempered.  Misunderstandings  took 
place  at  such  times  between  Mrs.  Ann- 
strong  and  Miss  Bassick.  Sometimes 
the  latter  did  not  come  at  once  —  then 
the  storm  descended,  and  wrathful  light- 
nings flashed  from  Mrs.  Armstrong's  eyes. 
"\Vhat  was  the  meaning  of  the  delay  ? 
Where  were  her  stockings?  Miss  Bas- 
sick had  certainly  hidden  them — where 
were,  they  ?  Then  Miss  Bassick  would 
glide  quietly  to  the  arm-chair  upon  which 
the  lady  had  deposited  her  garments, 
search  under  the  female  debris,  return 
with  them  in  her  hand,  and  proceed  to 
assist  the  lady  in  her  toilet.  At  each 


moment  (hiring  the  ceremony  of  div-,- 
iii'_T  there  was  a  misunderstandiiiu".  Mi>s 
r>a->ick  was  implored  l.y  the  unfortunate 
victim  of  her  awkwardness  for  ln;i\cn's 
sake,  not  to  lace  her  rorsrN  so  tight. 
She  was  not  assuming  a  strait  -  jacket, 
as  she  believed  she  was  not  precisely  out 
of  her  mind;  though  if  Miss  r,a»irk  per- 
severed in  lacing  her  until  she  could  not 
breathe,  slid  was  not  certain  that  the  re- 
sult would  not  be  the  wreck  of  her  phys- 
ical sy>tem,  and  the  probable,  overthrow 
of  her  reason. 

When  the  ceremony  of  dressing  had 
proceeded  to  the  detail  of  hair-arrange- 
ment, Mrs.  Armstrong  generally  read  a 
novel  in  her  velvet  arm-chair  while  Miss 
Ilassick  combed  out  her  locks.  This  wa> 
a  critical  moment.  The  lady's  skin  was 
tender.  If  the  comb  encountered  a  tangle, 
and  a  tug  ensued,  Mrs.  Armstrong  drop- 
ped her  novel,  and,  figuratively,  boiled 
over.  Good  heavens !  was  she  to  have 
her  hair  torn  out  by  the  roots?  I  >id 
Miss  Bassick  aim  at  making  her  tm/il.' 
What  did  she  mean?  Give  her  the 
comb  —  that  was  enough  !  She  could 
endure  a  great  deal,  but  this  was  really 
too  much!  Miss  Bassick  would  perhaps 
kindly  consent  to  go  down-stairs  and  see 
that  she  was  not  kept  waiting  for  her 
breakfast.  She  had  never  learned  to 
wait,  and  could  not  be  expected  to  be^in 
now  at  her  time  of  life.  Miss  I>a<>i«-k 
would  please  understand  that  breakfast 
must  be  on  the  table  at  the  moment  xl<c 
came  down — not  a  minute  sooner  or  later. 
She  could  go. 

Juliet  took  no  part  whatever  in  the 
torture  of  this  innocent  creature.  She 
never,  under  any  circum>t  led  on 

Miss  Bassick  to  assist  her  in  dr 
and  never,  on  any  occasion,  spoke  to  her 
with  discourtesy.  It  is  true  that  s1 
not  familiar  with  her.  Whether  this 
arose  from  a  sentiment  of  pride,  or  from 
personal  disinclination  to  such  an  intima- 
cy, Juliet  never  told  any  one.  But  then 
she  was  a  very  reserved  young  person  in 
the  expression  of  her  feelings,  and  it  was 
difficult  to  understand  her.  The  y^ung 
lady's  sentiments  toward  Miss  B 


106 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


were  as  little  known  to  her  mamma  as 
her  feelings  toward  Mr.  Lascelles.  These 
Mrs.  Armstrong,  however,  hoped  would  be 
all  that  she  could  wish  in  time  ;  and  when 
Mr.  Lascelles  made  his  appearance  on 
this  afternoon  she  said  to  Juliet,  as  the 
gentleman  rode  in  at  the  gate, 

*'  There  is  Mr.  Lascelles,  my  dear !  Do 
go  up-stairs  and  put  on  your  new  dress 
which  came  yesterday — and  the  blue  neck- 
tie, dear — Mr.  Lascelles  is  fond  of  blue  !" 

Juliet  was  seated  at  her  piano  in  the 
drawing-room,  where  she  had  been  sing- 
ing an  air  from  one  of  her  beloved  operas. 
Her  tall  figure  looked  superb  in  her  ugly 
"  pull-back  "  dress,  which  defined  every 
outline,  and  her  dark  hair,  worn  in  a 
crown  above  the  serene  white  forehead, 
made  the  beautiful  head  look  queen-like. 
Her  mother  gazed  at  her  with  fond  ad- 
miration, and  exclaimed, 

"You  really  arc  a  perfect  Diana,  Ju- 
liet !" 

"And  you  are  enough  to  spoil  an  an- 
gel, mamma,"  Miss  Juliet  said,  quietly. 

"  No,  indeed — it  is  the  truth.  But  do 
go  and  put  on  something  fit  to  be  seen, 
my  love !" 

Miss  Juliet  did  not  move. 

"Why  should  I,  mamma?"  she  said. 
"This  is  a  very  nice  dress,  and  I  cannot 
bear  to  be  worrying  at  my  toilet  all  day 
long,  and  changing  my  dress  for  every 
visitor." 

••  I'.nt  think,  my  dear!  Mr.  Lascelles, 
you  know,  is  very  critical.'" 

The  argument  scorned  to  make  no  im- 
pression whatever  on  Miss  Juliet.  She 
did  not  move. 

"I  really  am  too  tired, mamma,"  she 
said,  toin-hing  her  j.iaiio. 

"  \Vell,  my    dear,  you    will    do   :, 
please,  and  if  you    are  tired    I    will   not 
insist." 

She  approa.-h.-d  her  daughter,  and  ar- 
ranged the  ribbon  confining  her  hair. 

"You  must  sing,  my  dear,"  sin-  said. 
"for  Mr.  La-relies.  lie  is  fond  of  mu-'n-, 
is  he  not?" 

"  He  says  so,  and  I  suppose  ho  is.  I  en- 
not  fancy  any  one  being  indifferent  to  it." 

The  steps  of  Mr.  Lascelles  were  heard 


on  the  porch,  and  Mrs.  Armstrong  ran  herl 
fingers  over  the  keys  of  the  piano,  in  thej 
midst  of  which  performance  Mr.  Lascellesl 
appeared  at  the  door.  Mrs.  Armstrong! 
turned  her  head. 

"Mr.  Douglas!  Why,  you  quite  star-l 
tied  me !"  she  exclaimed. 

Mr.  Lascelles  came  in  and  bowed  low 
over  the  fair  hand  held  out  to  him,  and 
then  to  Miss  Juliet.     At  his  appearance 
that  young  lady  had  quietly  abandoned 
the  piano-stool,  where  her  dress  had  been 
drawn  so  tightly  around  her  person  as  to 
make  her  resemble,  in  some  degree,  the 
heathen  goddess  to  whom  her  mother  had| 
compared   her.      She   now   inclined  her| 
head  to  Mr.  Lascelles,  and  sat  down  in  an  j 
arm-chair  near  the  centre-table,  arranging  \ 
her  skirts  as  she  did  so,  and  leaning  back) 
in  her  habitual  attitude  of  tranquillity. 

"  All  are  well  at  Wye,  I  hope : — what 
exquisite  weather,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong. 

"Quite  charming,  madam.  I  always 
enjoy  the  autumn.  Were  you  playing  ? 
I  am  afraid  I  have  interrupted  you." 

"  Oh,  not  at  all.  I  have  quite  forgotten 
my  music." 

And  sinking  gracefully  into  a  chair, 
Mrs.  Armstrong  conversed  with  Mr.  Las- 
celles for  about  five  minutes.  She  then 
smiled  sweetly,  rose,  took  a  bijou  of  a 
key -basket  from  the  table  —  deposited 
there  by  Miss  Bassick,  who  had  attended 
to  the  house-keeping — and  glided  from 
the  room.  This  model  mamma  and  head 
of  the  establishment  was  evidently  intent 
on  household  duties,  and  disappeared  in 
the  room  opposite,  the  door  of  which  she 
closed  behind  her. 

Mr.  Lascelles  remained  at  Trianon  un- 
til nearly  sunset.  His  demeanor  toward 
the  young  lady  was  ambiguous,  and  the 
keenest  observer  would  have  found  it 
dillirult  to  penetrate  his  real  sentiments. 
It  was  plain  that  he  admired  her  beauty, 
and  his  manner  was  assiduous  and  de- 
voted; but  the  conversation  never  trench- 
ed on  delicate  ground.  During  a  consid- 
erable portion  of  the  time  Juliet  played 
and  sung  for  him  ;  for  Mr.  Lascelles  was 
very  fond  of  music  —  it  was  one  of  his 
sensualities.  Like  other  men  of  his  class 


VIRGINIA    HoIIKMIANS. 


107 


he  liked  to  gratify  all  his  senses,  and  mu- 
sic all'onled  him  a  distinctly  physical  cn- 
joymi'iit.  This  is  not  uncommon,  and 
has  little  to  d«»  with  the  moral  organiza- 
tion of  the  person.  Nero  had  music  in 
his  soul,  and  so  had  Mr.  Lascellcs. 

His  visits  to  Trianon  were  thus  always 
pleasant  to  him.  Juliet  gratified  his  mu- 
sical taste  as  it  had  seldom  been  gratified. 
Her  repertoire  of  airs  ranged  from  Bellini 
to  Offenbach, but  she  did  not  like  the  latter, 
and  only  sung  the  Sabre  de  mon  pcrc,  and 
other  music  of  a  similar  character,  when 
she  was  urged  to  do  so.  She  then  sung 
"Bonny  Jean,"  and  other  simple  ballads, 
with  a  tenderness  which  showed  how 
deeply  she  entered  into  and  felt  the 
words  and  music,  and  rising  from  the 
piano  went  back  to  her  seat — a  model  of 
serene  composure,  as  before. 

The  conversation  between  Mr.  Lascellcs 
and  Miss  Juliet  need  not  be  recorded. 
And,  after  all,  is  there  not  something  rath- 
er indiscreet  in  listening  to  the  confiden- 
tial utterances  of  young  people  who  say 
what  they  think  and  feel,  since  no  one 
overhears  them  ?  It  is  true  that  Mr.  Las- 
celles  and  Juliet  were  overheard  on  this 
occasion  ;  but  then  it  was  quite  indefensi- 
ble in  Miss  Bassick  to  steal  silently  through 
the  passage,  and  lean  forward  just  outside 
the  door  and  listen.  Candor  compels  the 
statement  that  she  did  so,  and  heard  all 
that  was  said — or  nearly  all.  After  lis- 
tening for  about  half  an  hour,  she  re- 
traced her  steps  with  the  same  caution, 
and  opening  the  Venetian  door  in  rear  of 
the  passage,  closed  it  without  noise  behind 
her.  Ten  minutes  afterward  she  emerged 
from  the  rear  of  the  house  with  a  little 
chip  hat  upon  her  head,  and  a  small  basket 
on  her  arm,  and  went  toward  a  grove  at 
some  distance,  apparently  intent  on  gath- 
ering something  in  her  basket.  Mrs. 
Armstrong,  who  was  looking  at  her  from 
an  upper  window,  saw  her  collect  some 
bunches  of  red  berries,  such  as  are  used 
for  decorations  ;  then  she  wandered  on  in 
the  direction  of  the  town  and  entered 
a  belt  of  woods;  and  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
watching  her,  not  without  suspicion,  lost 
sight  of  her. 


The  movements  of  Mi>>  Ha-i.-k  then 
became  eccentric.  Sin-  threw  a  rapid 
glance-  over  her  shoulder  in  the  di; 
of  the  hotisi — saw  that  the  i'olnge  con- 
cealed her — made  a  wide  eireuit,  walking 
quickly,  and  at  last  came  out,  just  at  sun- 
set, on  the  county  road  through  the  woods 
leading  in  the  direction  of  Wye.  The 
point  when;  she  stopped  was  not  mniv 
than  half  a  mile  from  Trianon.  Seating 
herself  upon  a  rock,  which  a  screen  of 
shrubbery  concealed  from  the  road,  <hu 
waited. 


XXXV. 

MISS    BASSICK. 

As  Miss  Bassick  half  reclined — for  she 
was  a  little  tired  from  her  walk — on  tin- 
picturesque  mass  of  rock,  nearly  covered 
with  moss,  in  the  grassy  nook,  >he  made 
a  very  pretty  picture.  The  foliage  af- 
forded an  excellent  background  for  her 
face  and  figure,  and  both  wore  exceeding- 
ly attractive.  The  figure  was  full  and 
graceful,  the  face  rosy  and  enticing.  But 
the  great  charm  about  Miss  Bassick  was 
her  eyes.  They  were  very  remarkable 
eyes.  The  submissive  expression  had 
quite  disappeared  from  them,  and  the 
heavy  lashes  no  longer  half  concealed 
them.  They  were  clear,  brilliant,  and  had 
a  singular  expression  of  irony  and  blan- 
dishment. As  she  sat,  with  her  elbow  on 
one  knee  and  her  head  leaning  on  her 
hand,  she  looked  toward  the  road  and 
listened  attentively ;  and  nothing  more 
subtle  and  seductive  can  be  imagined  than 
her  expression.  She  was  evidently  wait- 
ing for  somebody,  and  at  last  this  some- 
body seemed  to  be  approaching.  Ju-t  ;t> 
the  sun  sunk  like  a  ball  of  fire  behind  the 
woods  toward  Wye,  the  sound  of  hoofs 
was  heard  in  the  direction  of  Trianon; 
and  a  few  moments  afterward  Mr.  Las- 
celles  made  his  appearance  around  a  bend 
in  the  road,  coming  on  at  a  canter. 

As  he  came  in  sight,  Miss  Ba»ii.-k  rose, 
came  out  of  her  place  of  concealment, 
turned  her  back  upon  the  approaching 
horseman,  and  went  across  the  road,  with 


108 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


her  little  basket,  nearly  full  of  red  berries, 
on  her  arm. 

"  Miss  Bassick !" 

Mr.  Lascelles  had  suddenly  drawn  rein 
and  stopped  within  ten  yards  of  her.  She 
turned  her  head  quickly,  and  remained 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  look- 
ing at  him  and  smiling.  Mr.  Lascelles 
dismounted,  threw  his  bridle  over  his  arm, 
and  came  up  to  her.  He  was  smiling, 
like  the  young  lady. 

"You  arc  taking  your  evening  ramble 
—  you  walk  out  every  evening,  do  you 
not  ? — how  glad  I  am  to  meet  you !" 

Mr.  Lascelles  took  the  hand  of  Miss 
Bassick,  and  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  She 
drew  it  away  with  an  offended  air,  and 
seemed  very  much  displeased;  but  this 
expression  did  not  last — it  gradually  gave 
way  to  her  seductive  smile  again.  Hold- 
ing up  her  basket,  she  said,  in  her  low 
voice,  which  resembled  the  cooing  of  a 
dove, 

"  I  walk  out  every  evening,  as  you  say, 
and  have  gathered  these  pretty  red  berries 
for  the  pictures  at  Trianon  —  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong likes  them." 

"  And  you  are  fond  of  doing  what  will 
give  Mrs.  Armstrong  pleasure?" 

The  question  was  asked  in  a  tone  of 
covert  irony,  for  during  his  numerous  vis- 
its to  Trianon  the  quick  eyes  of  the  young 
gentleman  had  descried  many  things,  and 
he  had  come  to  understand  perfectly  the 
relations  between  Miss  Bassick  and  the 
lady  of  the  manor. 

44  It  is  one  of  the  pleasures  of  your 
life,  is  it  not,"  he  said,  uto  administer 
to  the  pleasure  of  that  charming  per- 
son ?" 

Mi-s  l.assirk  looked  attentively  at  him. 
Her  head  slowly  drooped,  and  the  long 
lashes  half  concealed  her  eyes. 

"  I  try  to  do  so,"  she  murmured.  Mr. 
lies  uttered  ;i  hearty  laugh. 

"  Well  let  me  be  frank  with  you  and 
U-ll  you  that  you  must  be  an  angel.  1 
know  that  I  am  very  unceremonious  to 
be  talking  to  you  thus.  But  foim — lot 
us  be  honest.  Do  you  really  on  joy  the 
life  you  lead?  I  have  seen  what  it  is." 

Miss  Bassick  turned  away  her  head,  ap- 


parently much  embarrassed,  and 
looking  for  something  in  the  road. 

"Have  you  lost  anything?"  said  Mr. 
Lascelles. 

"  My  glove ;  I  must  have  dropped  it," 
she  replied,  in  a  confused  voice,  "  and  yet 
I  had  it  a  moment  ago." 

"  I  will  walk  back  with  you  and  help 
you  to  look  for  it." 

44 1  am  afraid  it  will  give  you  trouble." 

"  None  at  all." 

Whereupon  Mr.  Lascelles  went  back 
with  Miss  Bassick,  who  led  the  way  to 
the  little  nook  behind  the  screen  of  foli- 
age, where  her  companion  threw  his  bri- 
dle over  a  bough,  and  assisted  her  in  her 
search. 

"  Here  it  is,"  he  said,  spying  the  small 
thread  glove  lying  beside  the  rock  where 
Miss  Bassick  had  rested.  He  stooped  to 
pick  it  up ;  and  as  the  young  lady  did  so 
at  the  same  moment,  a  very  simple  and 
natural  accident  occurred.  Their  heads 
came  together,  and  the  face  of  Mr.  Las- 
celles touched  the  rosy  cheek  and  warm 
curls  of  Miss  Bassick. 

Miss  Bassick  drew  back  instantly  wit  i 
a  deep  color  in  her  cheeks,  and  an  expres- 
sion of  extreme  dissatisfaction. 

"I  really  must  beg  your  pardon  for 
my  awkwardness,"  he  said,  "  and  hope 
you  will  give  me  an  opportunity  to  make 
my  peace  before  I  go.  You  must  be 
tired — there  is  an  excellent  scat." 

He  pointed  to  the  rock  covered  with 
moss,  and,  after  a  moment's  hesitation, 
the  young  lady  sat  down,  and  Mr.  Las- 
celles took  his  seat  beside  her.  The  color 
in  her  cheeks  had  not  quite  disappeared 
yet,  ami  her  eyes  \verc  cast  down. 

"  Yos,  I  feel  very  tired;  but  I  ought 
not  to  stay  long,"  she  said;  "Mrs.  Arm- 
strong will  require  me." 

. \uain  Mr.  Lascelles  smiled. 

44  Yon  say  w/////v.  Are.  you  Mrs. 
Armstrong's  servant,  then  ?  It  is  absurd." 

"1  ;im  seaively  more,"  said  Miss  \\;o- 
sick,  sadly.  As  she  spoke  her  bosom 
heaved,  and  she  caught  her  breath  as 
though  to  suppress  a  sob.  Her  eyes 
were  still  hidden  by  the  long  silken  lasln-s 
and  fixed  upon  the  ground.  She  was 


VIRGINIA   BollKMIANS. 


playing  with  ;i  pebble,  which  she  rolled 
ti>  and  fro  under  the  point  of  her  small 
slipper;  and  Mr.  Lascellcs,  who  was  a  con- 
n.)i>s.Mir  in  female  beauty,  looked  with 
unconcealed  admiration  at  his  companion, 
taking  in  everv  detail  of  her  face  and  fig- 
ure, from  the  small  foot  peeping  from  her 
skirt  to  the  short  curls  resting  on  her 
white  neck,  which  bent  forward  with  a 
pathetic  grace,  as  she  continued  to  gaze 
with  half-closed  eyes  on  the  moss  beside 
her. 

"  Things  were  very  different  once,"  she 
murmured,  "but  I  am  alone  in  the  world 
now.  My  father  and  mother  are  both 
dead,  and  I  have  no  relatives  to  give  me 
a  home.  I  am  little  better  than  a  servant. 
I  would  not  speak  so  plainly  of  myself, 
but  you  have  seen  and  understood  how 
I  am  treated.  Let  me  go  now :  I  am 
afraid  I  will  burst  out  crying  if  I  say  any 
more,  and  that,  you  know,  would  make 
you  laugh  at  me." 

Miss  Bassick  put  her  hand  into  a  side- 
pocket,  and  took  out  a  small  white  hand- 
kerchief, which  she  pressed  to  her  eyes. 
Her  voice,  as  she  uttered  the  last  words 
had  sunk  to  a  murmur,  and  she  uttered  a 
slight  sob. 

"Do  not  mind  me  —  I  can't  help  it," 
she  said,  raising  her  beautiful  eyes,  which 
were  swimming  in  tears, "  but  it  is  very 
hard  to  bear.  My  childhood  was  sur- 
rounded by  every  luxury — I  never  knew 
what  it  was  to  have  an  unkind  word  ad- 
dressed to  me — and  now — " 

She  stopped,  and  turned  away  her  head, 
letting  one  of  her  hands  fall  hopelessly  at 
her  side.  Mr.  Lascelles  took  it  in  his  own 
and  kissed  it. 

"  You  have  one  friend  left,  at  least !" 
he  said. 

And  Mr.  Lascelles  was  quite  in  earnest. 
The  very  strongest  trait  in  his  character 
was  his  admiration  for  female  beauty. 
Women  had  always  exerted  a  powerful 
influence  over  him,  and  often  as  his  judg- 
ment had  combated  his  weakness  he  had 
never  yet  succeeded  in  resisting  them ; 
not  that  he  cared  at  all  for  their  tears  and 
pathetic  speeches — those  uttered  by  Miss 
Bassick  had  had  very  little  effect  upon 


him.  It  was  the  subtle  seduction  of  the 
female  eye  and  lip  which  s\va\  ed  him; 
and  the  absence  of  these  physical  attrac- 
tion-; in  the  MTene  Juliet  probably  ivprl- 
led  him.  In  Miss  Bassick,  on  the  con- 
trary, he.  found  what  he  wished.  Her 
story  about  her  childhood  and  past  lux- 
uries, might  in-  true  or  falsi — her  pathetic 
complaint  of  her  ill-treatment  might  <»r 
might  not  be  exaggerated — but,  \vhat  was 
certain  was  that  here  was  a  magnificent 
young  animal,  with  a  pair  of  eyes  \\hieh 
had  some  magnetic  property  about  them — 
a  face,  figure,  carriage  of  the  person  \\  hieli 
thrilled  him  with  a  vague  admiration. 

It  was  not  by  any  means  their  first 
meeting.  They  had  frequently  met  in 
the  same  purely  accidental  manner,  and 
with  every  meeting  the  subtle  charm  of 
her  eyes  and  lips  had  grown  more  en- 
thralling. She  was  perfectly  formal,  and 
had  drawn  away  her  hand,  as  she  did  now 
when  he  took  it  in  his  own ;  but  there  were 
the  wonderful,  seductive  eyes,  and  the 
pouting  lips,  which  smiled  upon  him  a 
moment  afterward. 

They  smiled  now,  as  she  rose  and  held 
out  her  hand  to  him.  The  sun  had  set,  and 
the  rosy  flush  on  the  woods  was  fading. 

"  I  must  go  now,"  said  Miss  Bassick, 
with  a  timid  but  caressing  glance ;  "  what 
would  Mrs.  Armstrong  say  if  she  saw  me 
talking  to  you  here  ?" 

"Let  her  say  what  she  fancies — don't 
go  yet!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Lascelles.  "If 
you  only  knew  how  often  I  have  thought 
of  you  since  that  night  when  you  opened 
the  door !" 

"Of  me?' 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  You  must  not  think  of  me — remem- 
ber what  I  am.  Think  how  people  would 
laugh—" 

"  What  do  I  care  for  that : 
"  I  remember  only  one  thing — shall  I  tell 
you  what  it  is  ?" 

She  turned  her  head  over  her  shoulder, 
and  looked  at  him  with  an  expression 
which  made  his  pulses  throb. 

"AVhat  is  itP 

It  was  a  low  murmur.  The  red  lips 
scarcely  moved. 


110 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"That  you  are  the  most  beautiful 
woman  I  have  ever  seen !"  he  said. 

Miss  Bassick  laughed. 

kk  What  would  Juliet  say  if  she  heard 
you,  Mr.  Lascelles  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  or  care,"  he  said,  knit- 
ting his  brows. 

"  I  shall  take  care  not  to  tell  her,"  the 
young  lady  said.  "And  now  you  must 
really  let  me  go.  Think  how  late  it  is !" 

She  held  out  her  hand. 

"Good-bye!"  she  said.  "Will  you 
think  me  too  forward  if  I  tell  you  some- 
thing— that  I  am  so  very  glad  I  met  you. 
It  is  like  a  gleam  of  sunshine." 

For  a  moment  he  held  her  small,  warm 
hand,  and  looked  at  her  in  silence.  Her 
eyes  met  his  own,  and  they  exchanged  a 
long  glance. 

"  Shall  I  see  you  again  ?  I  cannot  see 
you  yonder,"  he  said,  pointing  toward 
Trianon. 

"  Perhaps,"  she  said,  laughing. 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?" 

"  I  mean  that  it  is  pleasant  to  walk  in 
the  woods  here  for  wild-flowers  and  fern." 

The  light  in  the  beautiful  eyes  of  Miss 
Bassick  deepened.  She  looked  straight 
at  Mr.  Lascelles,  and  the  golden  smile 
made  her  face  a  picture. 

"  Are  you  often  near  this  spot  about 
sunset  ?" 

"Yes." 

It  was  a  whisper,  almost,  but  Mr.  Las- 
celles heard  it  quite  plainly,  and  it  was 
evidently  all  that  lie  desired. 

"  I  shall  probably  come — to  see  Miss 
Juliet — again  the  day  after  to-morrow," 
1,  "and  as  I  like  to  be  at  Wye  be- 
fore night  these  chill  evenings,  I  shall 
pass  this  place  on  my  return  about  sun- 
set. Shall  I  see  any  one,  do  you  think  ?" 

"Perhaps,"  repeated  Mis*  J'>as>iek. 

The  smile  was  brighter,  and  the  long 
look  caressed  him  once  more.  With  a 
little  nod  Miss  Bassick  then  walked  off 
toward  Trianon.  Mr.  Lascelles  stood 
looking  at  her  until  her  figure  disap- 
peared, lie  then  mounted  his  h..r-e  and 
set  out  for  Wye ;  as  he  did  so  he  muttered, 

"  That  girl  is  a  witch  !  I  really  believe 
I  am  going  to  fall  in  love  with  her." 


XXXVI. 


A    STRUGGLE. 

"  NELLY,  I  am  going  back  home." 

"  Going  home !" 

"  Are  you  very  much  surprised  ?  It  is 
time  to  go  back,  if  I  am  ever  going.  I 
have  been  here  since  early  in  September, 
and  it  is  nearly  winter  now." 

"It  is — very — soon,"  poor  Nelly  fal- 
tered. 

"It  is  very  late,"  said  Brantz  Elliot, 
moodily.  "I  ought  to  have  gone  home 
long  ago.  Well,  the  bright  days  always 
end — if  they  could  only  stay,  Nelly !" 

They  were  talking  under  a  huge  pine 
crowning  a  shoulder  of  the  mountain, 
with  the  valley  of  Bohemia  at  their  feet. 
A  fresh  wind  made  the  leaves  dance  and 
flutter  down.  The  sky  was  blue,  and 
slightly  veiled  by  a  translucent  haze. 
The  far  headlands  of  the  Blue  Ridge 
swam  in  rose-tinted  mist,  and  from  time 
to  time  the  wind  ceased,  and  a  breath  of 
warmth  pervaded  the  atmosphere  of  the 
mountains. 

Brantz  Elliot  had  gone  out  with  his 
gun,  but  had  wandered  on  aimlessly, 
quite  forgetful  of  game,  and  thinking  of 
Nelly.  The  struggle  between  his  love 
and  pride  had  long  ended.  The  ine- 
quality of  a  union  with  the  poor  moun- 
tain maid  had  quite  ceased  to  occupy 
him.  He  had  long  banished  from  his 
mind  the  smiles  hidden  behind  fans  in 
the  hands  of  his  lady  acquaintances — tlie 
sudden  change  in  the  conversation  when 
he  entered  his  club — all  the  social  aston- 
ishments and  silent  protests  against  so 
curious  a  mesalliance.  This  moved  him  no 
more,  and  rarely  even  entered  his  mind. 
He  was  thinking  of  a  far  more  serious 
matter — Nelly's  reserve,  which  plainly  in- 
dicated that  there  was  a  more  serious  ob- 
stacle— her  own  unwillingness. 

O 

It  was  plain  that  it  would  be  useless  to 
ask  her,  and  yet  he  intended  to  do  so. 
He  could  not  go  without  telling  her,  at 
least,  how  miieh  he  loved  her;  and  he 
had  been  looking  for  an  opportunity,  day 
after  day,  until  on  this  morning  chance 
befriended  him,  and  they  were  alone  to- 


VIRGINIA    UoIIKMIANS. 


Ill 


Aether.  Xelly,  thinking  that  he  was  far 
awav  in  tlic  mountain  hunting,  had 
strolled  out  to  the  knoll,  which  was  not 
far  from  the  house,  and  on  his  return 
Brant/  Klliot  had  seen  her,  and  approach- 
ed her.  She  was  sitting  on  the  brown 
carpet  of  pine  tags,  with  one  shoulder 
against  the  pine,  and  seemed  to  have 
been  musing,  for  she  started  as  he  eame 
up  behind  her. 

"  If  they  could  only  stay,  Nelly !"  he 
repeated,  mournfully — "I  mean  the  bright 
days  ;  but  they  always  go.  The  winter 
is  coming.  Look  at  the  trees.  My  au- 
tumn's over,  and  I  must  go  back  home. 
Yes,  I  must  go,  Xelly — " 

lie  stopped  and  looked  at  her,  and  ex- 
claimed, taking  her  hand, 

"I  must  go  back,  Nelly  ;  but  how  am  I 
ever  to  get  along  without  you  ?" 

The  words  were  spoken  at  last,  and 
seating  himself  beside  the  blushing  girl, 
Brantz  Elliot  pressed  the  hand  he  held  to 
is  lips. 

"  I  know  it  is  no  use  to  talk  so,  Nelly  ; 
but  then  I  had  to  tell  you  this  before  I 
went— for  I  am  going.  I  am  not  much 
in  the  way  of  romance,  and  all  that.  I 
can't  make  love  to  you  as  I've  seen  it 
made  on  the  stage,  but  I  can  tell  you 
what  I  have  told  you,  and  tell  you  again, 
that  I  don't  see  how  I  can  go  on  living 
without  you." 

"You  will  do  very  well  without  me," 
poor  Nelly  faltered  out,  with  a  beating 
heart. 

Brantz  Elliot  shook  his  head  and  said, 

"You  do  not  know  how  much  I  have 
come  to  love  you.  I  think  of  nothing 
else.  I  am  a  plain  sort  of  fellow,  and 
not  up  to  fancy  talk;  but  if  you  only 
knew  how  I  am  wrapped  up  in  you,  Nel- 
ly! If  you  will  marry  me,  I  will  love 
you,  and  be  good  to  you  to  the  last  day 
of  your  life !" 

This  was  not  a  romantic  speech,  and 
did  not  deal  in  raptures,  neither  did  the 
speaker  fall  upon  his  knees,  or  exclaim 
"Oh!"  or  "My  own  darling!"  or  any- 
thing of  the  sort.  But  his  meaning  was 
plain,  whether  he  rolled  his  eyes  or  not. 
He  asked  Nelly  to  marry  him,  telling  her 


that  he  would  he  good  to  her — and  no 
lov.-r  can  make  a  more  rational  statement 
to  his  sweetheart. 

"This  is  foolish  i-inui^h,  I'm  afraid, 
Xelly,"  he  went  on.  "You've  not  look- 
ed at  me  lately  in  a  way  that  made  me 
think  you  cared  much  for  me.  Hut  what 
am  I  to  do?  I  can't,  go  without  telling 
you  this.  I  love  you  more  every  hour, 
and  have  been  loving  you  since  that  dav 
when  I  kissed  you  at  the  stream.  Do 
you  remember  that  day?  —  perhaps  you 
have  forgotten  it;  but  I  ha\.-  not.  I 
meant  to  save  you  or  die  with  you." 

"How  can  I  ever  forget  it? — and — and 
— I  did  not  mean  to — look  at  you  as  you 
say  I  did — as  if  I  cared  nothing  for  you !" 
sobbed  Nelly. 

The  young  man's  face  suddenly  fln-hed. 

"Then  say  yes,  Nelly !"  he  exclaimed; 
"if  you  care  for  me,  that  settles  every- 
thing. Say  you  will  marry  me,  Nelly  !'' 

"Oh  no,  no  —  I  ought  not  to!  indeed 
I  ought  not  to!"  the  girl  exclaimed. 
"  You  would  not  be  happy,  and — I  should 
be  miserable  if  you  were  unhappy  !  I  am 
a  poor  ignorant  girl — you  would  be  sorry 
you  had  ever  seen  me — I  could  not  bear 
to  have  people  laugh  at  you  for  marrying 
a  poor  thing  like  me.  I  could  not  bear 
that." 

Brantz  Elliot  raised  his  head  with  a 
sort  of  disdain,  and  said, 

"  Laugh  at  me !  what  do  I  care  for 
that  ?  Am  I  to  choose  my  wife  to  please 
a  parcel  of  foolish  women — all  for  fear 
of  their  gabble?  You  needn't  mind 
about  that.  You  need  never  sec  them. 
I'll  come  and  live  in  the  mountain  here, 
unless  you  fancy  going  to  Europe.  Only 
say  you  will  have  me,  Nelly !  I  love  you 
so  dearly  !  Tell  me  I  need  not  go,  Xelly. 
Only  tell  me  that !" 

lie  held  both  the  girl's  hands  and 
drew  her  toward  him.  Her  face  was  cov- 
ered with  blushes  and  her  eyei  >wam  in 
tears.  It  was  a  very  hard  struggle — for 
Nelly  loved  Brantz  Elliot  just  as  dearly 
as  he  loved  her.  If  she  had  followed  the 
impulse  of  her  heart  she  would  have  lean- 
ed her  head  upon  his  breast  and  cried,  and 
said  yes ;  but,  even  with  this  sore  tempta- 


112 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


tion  before  her,  she  thought  of  the  conse- 
quences to  the  man  she  loved.  If  she 
married  him  he  would  soon  grow  ashamed 
of  her ;  his  family  would  look  down  upon 
her;  he  would  regret  his  union  with  her 
— and  for  him  to  do  so,  she  felt,  would 
break  her  heart. 

"  Indeed  I  cannot ! — do  not  ask  me !" 
was  all  she  could  say. 

"  But  I  will  ask  you,  Nelly  !  Don't 
tell  me  to  go.  You  are  the  only  wife  I 
want,  Nelly  !" 

lie  put  his  arms  around  her  neck  and 
drew  her  close  to  him  as  he  spoke,  and 
Nelly, worn  out  by  the  long  struggle,  seem- 
ed about  to  yield,  when  a  startling  and  un- 
unexpected  incident  ended  their  interview. 
Something  resembling  a  wild-cat  bounded 
from  behind  the  pine,  and  fell  on  his 
shoulders.  He  felt  the  claws  of  the  animal 
and  his  hot  breath  on  his  cheek,  and  with 
the  instinct  of  the  hunter  his  hand  went 
to  the  knife  in  his  belt.  But  as  suddenly 
the  hand  fell  at  his  side,  and,  in  spite  of 
himself,  he  burst  out  laughing.  The  wild- 
cat of  his  fancy  was  Dash,  the  favorite 
deer-hound  of  Daddy  Welles,  who,  recog- 
nizing his  intimate  friend  Mr.  Brantz  El- 
liot, had  leaped  on  his  shoulders  to  caress 
him.  Dash  now  gambolled  about  in  a 
manner  indicative  of  extreme  pleasure  at 
the  rencontre,  and  then  bounded  to  meet 
his  master,  Daddy  Welles,  who  at  that 
moment  came  in  sight,  gun  on  shoulder. 

IJrantz  Elliot  was  fond  of  Daddy  Welles, 
but  it  is  doubtful  if  he  felt  much  disposi- 
tion to  greet  him  warmly  upon  the  pres- 
ent occasion.  The  Daddy,  however,  dis- 
played an  amount  of  cheerfulness,  M  h.- 
joined  the  party,  which  sufficed  for  every- 
body. 

"  Well,  here  you  arc,  Nelly,  you  and 
Mr.  Elliot,  and  1  thought  you  wen-  a-hunt- 
in-  fcerf1  .-aid  the  Daddy.  "  \\VI1,  well, 
it's  human  natur1,  I  s'pose.  Young  men 
will  be  young  men,  and  gals  will  I 
1  was  no  belter' M  the  rest  of  you  once  on 
a  time.  The  sight  of  a  petticoat  put 
everything  <'lse  clean  out  of  my  head." 

Having  thus  unbosomed  himself  of  his 
views  on  the  propensities  of  young  pcr- 
sons,  Daddy  Welles  proceeded  to  observe 


that  he  was  going  into  the  mountain  t 
see  if  he  could  not  pick  up  a  wild-turkej 
and  invited  Brantz  Elliot  to  accompan; 
him.  The  latter  looked  at  Nelly  with 
faint  hope  that  she  would  retain  him,  i 
only  by  a  look,  but  this  hope  was  prompl 
ly  dispelled.  Nelly  said  she  must  g 
home,  as  her  mother  would  need  her 
and  turning  away  her  head,  in  order  t 
hide  her  blushes  from  Daddy  Welles,  sh 
left  them  and  went  slowly  back  in  the  di 
rection  of  home. 

"  A  good  girl,  Nelly— there's  few  lik 
her,"  was  the  fatherly  comment  of  Dadd 
Welles  as  he  looked  after  her.  "  But  it* 
time  to  git  on.  The  turkeys  mostly  sta; 
in  the  hills  across  the  stream  yonder ;  an 
I  hope  we'll  have  better  luck  than  som 
friends  of  ourn  had  that  night  they  hunl 
ed  the  moonshiners !" 

Daddy  Welles  smiled  sweetly  at  th 
recellection  of  his  ride  that  night,  and  h 
and  Brantz  Elliot  soon  disappeared  in  th 
pine  thicket. 

XXXVII. 

THE    BOHEMIANS. 

ON  this  evening  the  little  family  o: 
wanderers  were  grouped  around  a  cheei 
ful  fire  at  Crow's  Nest  —  all  but  Harry 
He  had  gone  out  in  the  afternoon  to  fish 
and  as  a  storm  was  evidently  coming,  the 
were  looking  for  him  anxiously :  fo 
some  days  he  had  been  laboring  under 
very  severe  cold,  and  every  moment  M<  us 
went  to  the  door  to  see  if  he  was  coming 

The  table  was  set  with  plates  and  til 
•  •ups  and  knives  and  forks;  the  coffee 
was  boiling;  the  meat  was  broiling;  am 
over  all  Mouse  presided  with  a  busines 
air  which  was  impressive.  The  little  on 
was  house -keeper  and  general  manager 
and  her  rule  was  autocratic.  She  die 
not  tolerate  interference,  or  permit  an 
hivaeh  of  the  rules  of  good-breedin_  I 
her  request  Harry  had  purchased  at  Piec 
mont  a  small  bell,  which  Mouse  proudl 
placed  upon  the  mantel-piece,  as  an  orna 
mcnt  to  and  evidence  of  the  respectabilit 
of  the  menage.  Until  this  bell  sounde< 
no  one  presumed  to  take  his  seat  at  th 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


113 


able.     All  waited,  however  hungry,  watch- 

ng  the  small  autocrat  at  her  work,  with 
.ulmiission.  Then  when  her  viands  were 
•eadv.  Mouse  dished  them  up  and  placed 
hem  upon  the  table;  still  there  was  no 
novement.  Lastly,  Mouse  reached  upon 
iptoe  to  the  high  mantel-piece  and  pos- 
iierself  of  the  bell,  rang  it  cheer- 
'ully  with  a  prolonged  tingle,  as  though 
o  summon  numerous  members  of  the 
'amily  from  remote  apartments  of  the  es- 
ablishment,  and  then  observed,  with  a 
.crious  air,  "Sit  down,  gentlemen,  wo 
jannot  wait  for  the  lazy  people  up-stairs. 
Hie  things  are  getting  cold."  AVhcre- 
ipon  all  would  take  their  seats,  and  Mouse 
would  preside  at  the  head  of  the  table, 
jutting  the  brown  sugar  into  the  tin  cups 
vith  a  pewter  spoon,  and  pouring  out  the 
soffee  with  an  air  which  evidently  filled 
he  Lefthander  with  extreme  enjoyment. 

Mouse,  in  fact,  humanized  and  amelio- 
rated all  her  surroundings.  She  infused 
ihe  feminine  element  which  households 
ire  the  better  for  when  it  does  not  turn 
jour.  As  to  Mouse,  the  idea  that  she 
jould  possibly  become  sour  seemed  ab- 
jurd.  She  was  sunshine  incarnate,  and 
it  up  everybody.  She  took  charge  of 
ihem  with  a  motherly  air,  and  repri- 
manded and  then  petted  them.  They 
jailed  her  "Old  Lady,"  and  she  called 
ihem  her  "  Big  Babies ;"  and  as  she 
was  expert  at  her  needle,  and  did  all  the 
mending,  it  really  did  seem  as  if  they 
were  young  people  who  required  looking 
after. 

As  night  came  on,  a  huge  mass  of 
clouds,  as  black  as  ebony,  drifted  up 
from  the  west,  and  the  red  glare  of  the 
sinking  sun  lit  the  valley,  turning  every- 
thing crimson.  A  faint  mutter  of  thun- 
der rolled  through  the  gorges  like  the 
angry  growl  of  a  wild  animal,  and  from 
time  to  time  vivid  flashes  of  lightning 
revealed  every  feature  of  the  wild  land- 
scape slowly  disappearing  in  the  darkness. 

Mouse  went  to  the  door  and  looked 
out,  again. 

"  I  wish  Harry  would  come,"  she  said, 
in  a  low  tone.     "  There  is  going  to  be  a 
storm.     How  black  it  looks  !" 
8 


Then  she  suddenly  recoiled.  A  Hash 
of  lightning,  so  da/x.ling  that  it  Minded 
her,  lit  up  the  \\h«>I«-  valley  and  the  Hlue 
Ridge  opposite,  and  a  crash  of  thunder 
followed.  Then  the  storm 
and  a  torrent  of  rain,  driven  by  a 
wind,  lashed  the  mountains. 

"Oh,  why  don't  Harry  come?" 
exclaimed,  looking  and  listening. 

As  she  spoke  a  step  was  heard  on  the 
porch,  and  Harry  came  in,  completely 
drenched.  Mouse  rushed  to  him. 

"  You  have  got  yourself  wet,  you  bad, 
disgraceful  boy  !"  she  exclaimed.  "  You 
promised  me  you  wouldn't." 

"I  didn't  mean  to  break  my  promise; 
I  couldn't  help  it,  Mouse." 

"You  always  have  excuses,"  said  the 
autocrat,  "  There,  you  are  coughing  — 
your  cold  is  worse.  Sit  down  here  at 
once  and  let  me  dry  you." 

Mouse  drew  off  his  coat,  which  she 
hung  close  to  the  fire,  and  taking  a  blan- 
ket from  her  pallet  wrapped  it  around  his 
shoulders.  She  then  directed  him  to  take 
the  scat  which  she  drew  up ;  he  sat  down 
submissively,  and  Mouse  proceeded  to 
scold. 

"  Well,  let  him  off  this  time,"  said  the 
Lefthander ;  "  he  sha'n't  do  so  any  more. 
Why,  you  have  a  bad  cough,  sure  enough," 
he  added  to  Harry. 

"  Bad  enough." 

The  words  were  followed  by  a  long, 
hoarse  fit  of  coughing,  at  the  end  of 
which  Harry  shivered  a  little,  although 
his  face  seemed  to  indicate  fever.  In  a 
moment,  however,  he  seemed  at  his  ease 
again,  and  the  bell  having  been  formally 
rung  by  Mouse,  they  sat  down  and  ate 
their  supper.  Thereafter  the  Lefthander 
lit  his  pipe  and  smoked  contemplatively, 
gazing  with  much  satisfaction  at  Mouse, 
who,  having  cleared  away  the  tab! 
seated  opposite,  mending  one  of  Gentle- 
man Joe's  two  or  three  shirts. 

It  was  a  cheerful  group.  These  poor 
Bohemians,  mere  waifs  of  humanity  with- 
out a  resting-place,  had  made  something 
like  a  home  here  in  the  lonely  house  in 
the  hills.  There  was  little  beyond  the 
bare  walls,  and  the  panes  rattled  in  the 


114 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


gusts  dashing  the  rain  against  them ; 
without,  all  was  darkness  and  chill  up- 
roar, but  within  the  fire  burned  cheerily, 
and  was  reflected  from  the  faces  of  the 
wanderers.  It  was  their  home,  this  poor 
shelter — all  they  had  in  the  world.  The 
wraves  of  fate  had  cast  them  ashore  here, 
and,  like  shipwrecked  mariners,  they  hail- 
ed their  good  fortune,  looking  on  that 
side  of  things,  not  on  the  darker  side. 
Others  had  elegant  houses,  and  rich  car- 
pets, and  warm  curtains,  and  soft  beds. 
They  had  only  this  deserted  shell,  with 
the  bare  floors  and  the  broken  panes,  and 
hard  mattresses,  but  they  were  content. 
And  was  it. not  enough?  Is  there  not, 
after  all,  something  attractive  in  such  re- 
moteness—  in  exemption  from  the  de- 
mands of  "  society  "  and  the  world — the 
great  world,  as  it  is  called,  perhaps  be- 
cause it  is  so  little  ?  No  wearying  claims 
of  artificial  life,  no  mask  on  the  features 
that  the  lurking  glance  that  watches  may 
not  read  the  thought  of  the  mind,  the 
emotion  of  the  heart; — life  under  the 
sky,  and  in  the  free  sunshine,  with  some- 
thing seen,  in  the  tranquil  days,  beyond 
the  sky  and  the  sunshine ! 

Harry  had  drawn  up  to  the  fire  and 
warmed  himself,  and  the  little  family 
made  a  cheerful  semicircle  in  front  of  the 
blaze,  which  roared  up  the  chimney  in 
triumph,  though  the  storm  was  roaring 
louder  still  without. 

"  Winter's  coming,"  said  the  Left- 
hander, after  musing  for  some  moments, 
"and  we'll  have  to  look  out  for  a  better 
place  than  this." 

"  Yes,  this  is  sad,  very  sad,"  said  Gen- 
tleman Joe,  dreamily  ;  "  but  what  are  we 
to  do  ?" 

"The  troupe,"  said  MOUM-. 

The  Lefthander  uttered  a  grunt,  and 
said, 

"  I  thought  you  had  given  up  that  idea, 
Mignon." 

"<ii\cn  it  up!"  cried  Mouse,  pinning 
her  work  to  her  knee.  "You  a: 
much  mistaken.  I  dream  about  that 
monkey,  and  I've  arranged  everything. 
You're  to  be  the  clown,  Gentleman  Joe, 
and  make  people  laugh,  and  Harry  and 


you,  poppa,  will  perform  the  tricks,  and 
maybe  I'll  dance  the  rope,  as  well  as  car 
ry  round  the  tambourine." 

"  No,  I  don't  mean  you  shall  dance 
any  more,  Mouse,"  said  the  Lefthander, 
"  there's  been  enough  of  that.  Yoo 
teased  me  till  I  let  you  do  it  once;  bu 
you're  too  little ;  that's  come  to  an  end.' 

"Little!"  said  Mouse.  "Yes,  I'm  lit 
tie,  more's  the  pity,  but  I'm  not  so  little 
that  I  can't  do  my  part." 

"  You  do  a  great  deal — far  more  thai 
your  part,  Mignon ;  and  I  really  thinl 
we  are  having  a  better  time  here  than  w( 
had  with  the  circus.  It  was  easier  living 
with  eight  hundred  dollars  a  month  foi 
swinging  on  the  trapeze  and  lifting — but 
then  there  were  the  bar-rooms.  As  lon( 
as  I  was  there  I  couldn't  keep  away  fron? 
the  bar-rooms,  and  that  was  bad,  Mignon 
Now  I  never  go  near  them,  or  drink  any 
thing  at  all.  I've  cut  loose  from  the  tin 
rivalled  Combination,  and  so  have  you 
You'll  ndt  dance  any  more.  If  you  bother 
we'll  get  up  the  little  troupe  and  kav 
you  behind !"  [| 

"  Leave  me  behind !"  Mouse  exclaimed 
in  immense  derision ;  "  and  what  do  yol 
think  would  become  of  you,  if  I  was  no 
with  you  to  take  care  of  you  ?"  I 

The  Lefthander  grunted.  As  he  look 
ed  at  the  child,  his  rugged  features  gre? 
soft.  A  quiet  smile  just  moved  his  hugl 
mustache,  and  he  said, 

"Well,  that's  true  — I  really  neve 
thought  of  that.  I  suppose,  after  all.  we'] 
have  to  take  you  along." 

"  I  should  think  you  would !"  Mous 
said,  with  a  lofty  air.  "  It's  as  much  a 
I  can  do  to  keep  you  all  straight  now 
If  you  wandered  off,  there's  no  tell  in; 
what  would  happen  to  you  without  me." 

"  That's  true,  Lefthander,"  said  Gentle 
man  Joe.     "We  can't  leave  Mouse.     \ 
l«'>r  my  good  spirits  if  I  didn't  see  Mniis 
every  day." 

"  You  seem  to  have  lost  them  any  way, 
was  the  rejoinder.  "  You've  been  mopini 
lately.  Come,  laugh  a  little  for  us,  Gel 
tleman  Joe !  I  like  to  hear  you  laugh." 

At  this  Gentleman  Joe  shook  his  hea 
sadly. 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


115 


"I  sec  t<>o  many  things  that  make  me 
sorrowful,"  he  said.  "The  pines  talk  t<> 
ne,  too,  and  seem  to  bend  to  me  and 
vhisper  sometimes,  as  if  they  had  some- 
t«»  toll  me." 

Tin*  Lefthander  exchanged  a  glance 
vith  Harry,  who  looked  much  depressed. 
Then  the  mice  in  the  walls  seem  t<> 
[now  me  and  talk  to  me,"  said  Gentle- 
nan  Joe,  looking  dreamily  into  the  fire. 
• '  Squeak  !  squeak  !'  they  go,  just  as  they 
lid  when  I  used  to  listen  to  them." 

"  Do  you  mean  here.  Gentleman  Joe  ?" 

"  Here  or  somewhere  —  I  don't  know 
xaetly  where  ;  my  memory  is  weak.    Yes, 
lere — or  somewhere.     *  Squeak  !  squeak !' 
Vnd  then  the  pines — they  are  never  done 
whispering  to  me,  day  and  night." 

Gentleman  Joe  was  often  in  these 
moods  now,  and  would  remain  in  them 
or  days  at  a  time,  during  which  he  scarce- 
y  spoke  to  anybody,  but  went  wandering 
,bout  the  vicinity  with  the  air  of  a  per- 
on  looking  for  something.  Then,  at 
ome  chance  speech  or  jest  recalling  his 
ife  with  the  circus,  and  some  odd  inci- 
ient,  he  would  suddenly  brighten  up,  ut- 
er  a  hearty  laugh,  and  fall  to  grimacing 
ifter  his  old  fashion.  These  mirthful 
utbursts  were  growing,  however,  more 
nd  more  unusual,  and  his  friends  endeav- 
>red  in  vain  to  ascertain  the  cause  of  his 
epression.  lie  either  could  not  or 
vould  not  explain.  His  replies  were  ei- 
her  evasive  or  indicative  of  inability  to 
Account  for  his  moods.  He  had  the  cun- 
ting  of  half-witted  persons,  and  might  be 
oncealing  something,  but.  it  was  just  as 
>robable  that  his  apparent  recollection  of 
ivents  and  persons  associated  with  the 
brow's  Nest  house  were  vague  fancies — 
nere  imaginations  of  a  mind  clouded 
vith  the  mists  of  unreason. 

"  Well,  well,"  the  Lefthander  said,  in 
eply  to  Gentleman  Joe's  last  words,  "  let 
he  mice  squeak,  and  the  wind  blow  in 
he  pine-trees — they  do  nobody  any  harm, 
f  they  are  not  agreeable,  you  can  always 
:o  away  and  pay  somebody  a  visit. 
There's  Daddy  Welles  and  little  Nelly— 
hey'll  keep  you  in  good  spirits." 

"  Nelly  ?     Oh  yes,  Nelly  !" 


(ieiitleiuan  Joe's  face  lit  up  with  a 
smile. 

"Nelly's  like  the  sun  shining,"  1: 
"  I  don't  mind  the  miee  s-jneakin^  when 
I'm  thinking  about  Nelly." 

"You  certainly  are  '_r"«»d  friends,  and 
it  is  easy  to  see  how  fund  «>f  YOU  she  i>." 

"Tin  glad  of  that,"  the' old  fellow 
said,  with  a  bright  smile  on  his  fae,-; 
"and  Daddy  Welles,  too — he  is  an  esti- 
mable man,  though  perhaps  he  hunts  too 
much  by  moonshine." 

To  these  words  the  Lefthander  made 
no  reply.  He  had  never  told  Mouse  of 
his  connection  with  the  moonshiners,  re- 
sulting from  that  night  meeting  with 
them  in  the  mountain.  A  very  few 
words  from  Daddy  Welles  had  induced 
him  to  join  them.  The  little  family 
was  coming  to  want,  and  the  Lefthander 
did  not  hesitate.  And  the  worthy  moon- 
shiners looked  upon  him  now  as  a  most 
important  acquisition.  Resolute,  power- 
ful, a  man  to  "  count  on,"  as  a  glance  at 
his  face  showed,  he  had  become  a  sort 
of  leader  with  them,  and  infused  new  en- 
ergy into  their  illegal  occupation.  And  it 
must  be  said  he  enjoyed  his  new  pursuits. 
He  was  tired  of  idleness.  The  profits, 
too,  were  very  considerable,  for  the  illicit 
spirit  was  sent  in  all  directions,  and  dis- 
posed of  readily,  and  the  Lefthander's 
pockets,  growing  painfully  empty  when 
he  went  to  set  his  traps  that  night,  were 
now  full  of  bank-notes. 

Both  Gentleman  Joe  and  Harry  were 
in  the  secret,  but  not  Mouse.  Why  had 
he  concealed  it  from  the  child  ?  It  was 
difficult  to  say.  The  Lefthander  acted 
largely  from  a  sort  of  instinct.  The 
moonshine  business  was  illegal  —  it  was 
not  regarded  by  strict  moralists  as  very 
creditable.  Mouse,  therefore,  should  have 
nothing  to  do  with  it,  and  not  even  know 
of  his  connection  with  the  moonshiners. 
The  star  lighting  up  the  little  company 
of  wanderers  was  to  stay  where  it  be- 
longed— in  the  pure  upper  air.  Rugged 
natures  often  have  these  finer  insti: 

The  Lefthander  had  been  enabled  thus 
to  provide  for  the  Crow's  Nest  house- 
hold ;  but  the  time  was  near  when  this 


116 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


resource  would  probably  fail.  With 
winter  the  manufacture  of  the  whiskey 
would  be  discontinued ;  and  then  reports 
were  rife  that  the  government  officers 
were  coming  back — when  there  would 
be  trouble.  The  report  had  reached 
Piedmont  that  a  company  of  mounted 
regulars  would  harry  the  mountain,  and 
then  something  very  unpleasant  would 
no  doubt  ensue.  Arrests  would  take 
place,  perhaps,  and  among  the  persons 
arrested  there  might  be  a  certain  indi- 
vidual called  the  Lefthander.  The  rest 
would  follow — imprisonment,  trial,  and  a 
term  of  years  in  prison,  perhaps.  Then 
what  would  become  of  Mopse  ? 

"  I  wouldn't  like  that,"  the  Lefthander 
muttered,  after  a  pause:  he  had  fallen 
into  a  reverie  and  thought  of  all  this 
now.  "  After  all,  I  like  a  wandering  life, 
and  Mouse  is  right.  The  troupe  is  the 
right  thing." 

As  he  spoke  a  knock  came  at  the  door, 
and  a  voice  without  cried, 

"Can  you  give  a  poor  man  shelter, 
friends?" 


XXXVIII. 

FLOTSAM. 

THE  Lefthander  rose,  and  went  and 
opened  the  door.  The  rain,  driven  by 
the  wind,  dashed  in  his  face  and  nearly 
blinded  him ;  but  through  the  cloud  he 
could  see  a  man  in  rags,  with  a  bundle 
on  his  back  hanging  from  a  stout  stick. 

"  Who  are  you?"  said  the  Lefthander. 

"A  poor  man  nigh  starved  and  wet  to 
the  skin,  and  lookin'  for  a  shelter,"  said 
the  man. 

The  Lefthander  opened  the  door  wide. 

"Come  in,"  he  said;  "this  is  the 
place." 

The  man  came  in  and  drew  near  the 
fire,  ducking  his  head  to  the  company. 
!!«•  was  a  Wiry-looldilg  fellow  <>f  middle 
age,  with  a  rough  beard  and  imisladi.-, 
sharp  eyes,  and  the  expression  of  the 
houseless  vagabond.  II U  divss  had 
reached  the  last  stages  of  dilapidation, 
and  seemed  to  be  held  together  b\ 
innate  principle  of  cohesion.  One  of  the 


skirts  of  his  shabby  old  coat  had  disaj 
peared,  and  his  knees  were  covered  wit 
patches.  His  bony  wrists  ended  in  clav 
like  hands,  and  his  naked  toes  protrude 
through  his  worn  boots.  His  hat  was 
rag :  he  seemed  to  have  no  shirt.  H 
was  a  vagabond,  and  a  thoroughly  drencl 
ed  one.  || 

"  Sit  down  and  warm  yourself,"  th 
Lefthander  said ;  "  then  we'll  give  yo 
some  supper." 

Mouse  placed  meat,  bread,  and  the  r< 
mainder  of  the  coffee  on  the  table,  an 
the  tramp  ate  ravenously,  grinning  as  h 
did  so.  When  he  had  finished  his  me* 
he  drew  a  long  breath  of  satisfaction,  an 
coming  closer  to  the  fire,  said, 

"That's  the  sort  o'  thing  that  sets 
feller  up." 

"  Where  are  you  from  ?"  said  the  Left 
hander,  looking  fixedly  at  him. 

"  Well,  I'm  from  Philadelfy,  and  m 
name  is  Rooney  Ruggles,"  he  said,  grii 
ning.     "I'm  what  they  call  a  tramp, 
guess." 

"  What  brought  you  south  ?" 

"  Want  o'  work." 

"  The  old  cry,"  said  the  Lefthander. 

The  tramp  grinned  again,  and  warme 
his  hands  at  the  blaze. 

"  That's  so,"  he  said,  "  and  there'll  b 
trouble  about  it.      If  a  honest  man 
got  to  starve,  him  and  his  famuly,  he' 
jest  as  leave  fight.     Things  '11  have 
change,  or  we'll  change  'em — and  do 
pretty  quick." 

As  the  Lefthander  continued  to  sin  ok 
with  a  meditative  air,  the  visitor  was  ev 
dently  encouraged  to  further  unbosoj 
himself,  and  said, 

"  What  right  have  the  rich  swells  1 
ride  over  poor  people?  They  sit  in  the 
fine  houses  and  drink  their  wine,  and  ric 
in  their  carriages,  and  take  life  eas' 
while  better  men  'n  they  are  don't  have 
bone  to  pick,  or  a  kennel  to  lay  down  1 
at  night  !  1  say,  down  with  'em  !  Tn 
yer  boy.  I'm  up  to  anything,  from  set  tin 
lire  to  a  wheat-stack  to  burnin'  a  fact'rj 
Let  'em  look  out !  Jest  take  a  good  loO 
at  me,  mate.  I've  been  a-starvin'  an 
a-sleepin'  in  barns  all  along  the  road !" 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


117 


He  had  set  the  remainder  of  his  coffee 
y  the  fire  to  warm.  He  now  raised  it 
>  his  lips,  and  said,  grinning, 

"  Here's  down  with  the  swells!  Cuss 
in.  let  '.-in  look  out!" 

As  the  Lefthander  continued  to  smoke, 
i  bond  went  on,  gazing  around  him 
a  he  spoke. 

"  You're  tramps,  too,  to  judge  from  the 
>ok  o'  things.  We're  the  right  sort  o' 
cople.  We  don't  wear  fine  clothes  and 
ok  down  on  a  honest  man.  Things 
ught  to  be  divided — sheer  and  sheer  alike, 
[ake  it  a  law  a  man  sha'n't  own  mor'n  a 
atch  o'  land.  Make  the  big-bugs  stand 
jout  and  take  off  ther  coats  and  go  to 
ork.  They've  got  to  do  it,  or  the 
amps  '11  know  the  reason — what  do  you 
iv,  mate  ?" 

"  I  say  you  are  talking  bosh,"  said  the 
jfthander,  coolly,  "  and  that  men  like 
>u  are  making  trouble.  I  heard  you 
rough,  and  if  it  was  worth  while  I 
ould  tell  you,  you  talk  like  a  fool !  You 
*te  the  rich  people,  and  mean  to  rob 
lem  if.  you  can,  because  you  are  the 
rongcst.  What  has  that  got  to  do  with 
?  I  can  pick  you  up  and  toss  you 
irough  that  window  —  I  am  stronger 
lan  you  are.  What  right  have  I  to  do 
tat  2" 

The  tramp's  countenance  fell.  He  had 
Tidently  blundered ;  and  a  glance  at  the 
Dnderous  frame  of  the  Lefthander  was 
ddently  not  reassuring. 

"  You  talk  of  burning  wheat-stacks  and 
ctories,"  said  the  Lefthander;  "why 
't  you  go  and  work  in  the  wheat-field 
r  the  factory  instead?  The  ground  is 
Dnder  in  the  West,  and  labor  is  needed, 
istead  of  working,  you  tramps  sit  on  the 
nee,  and  sneak  and  beg." 
The  tramp  did  not  reply.  His  elo- 
lence  had  all  disappeared. 

A  man's  money  is  his  own,"  the  Left- 
inder  added ;  "  he  either  made  it,  or  some- 
xly  made  it  for  him.  If  you  take  it 
pay  from  him  you  are  a  thief,  and  a 
eak  too.  Don't -be  that,  if  you  must 
sal.  Go  on  the  road  and  put  a  five- 
looter  to  the  rich  man's  head,  and  take 
is  purse — it's  more  respectable." 


Suddenly  the  tramp's  fare  expanded 
into  a  grin,  and  he  exclaimed, 

"  Well,  you're  right,  mate,  and  I  was 
only  jokin'.  Hum  a  wheat-stark  !  You 
didn't,  really  think  I  was  in  cannM  .' 
Rooney  Ruggles  ain't  the  man  to  be  d«iu' 
that,  and  as  to  Ji ve-shooters  and  stoppiiT 
people,  that's  out  o'  my  line  entirely." 

"Yes,  I  think  it  is,"  said  the  Lefthand- 
er, somewhat  disgusted  with  his  visitor; 
"if  I  was  one  of  the  rich  people  you 
stopped  on  the  road  it  wouldn't  take  me 
long  to  do  for  you." 

This  remark  wras  open  to  criticism,  per- 
haps, as  being  more  frank  than  polite ; 
but  the  Lefthander  was  plainly  tired  of 
the  vulgarity  of  his  guest.  His  eyebrows 
shut  down  a  little,  and  the  tramp  saw 
that  ominous  sign.  •  He  renewed  his  dec- 
laration that  he  was  only  joking,  and 
then  asked  whether  he  could  lie  down. 
The  Lefthander  pointed  to  one  of  the 
mattresses,  and  the  tramp  went  and 
brought  it.  Then  the  rest  were  spread, 
as  the  hour  was  late,  and  soon  afterward 
the  whole  party  were  stretched  upon  them 
and  asleep. 

For  about  an  hour  there  was  a  pro- 
found silence  in  the  house,  and  nothing 
was  heard  but  the  plashing  of  the  rain 
without.  Then  the  tramp  raised  his  head 
slowly  and  looked  cautiously  around  him. 
The  whole  party  were  plainly  asleep — 
their  long  breathing  indicated  that — and 
rising  on  his  elbow,  then  on  his  knees,  the 
tramp  dragged  himself  cautiously  toward 
the  Lefthander,  and  looked  at  him.  lie 
was  in  a  dead  slumber,  and  with  rapid 
and  skilful  hands  the  vagabond  searched 
all  his  pockets.  This  was  done  in  a  very 
few  moments,  and  the  result  was  an  ex- 
pression on  the  tramp's  countenance  of 
the  greatest  disappointment,  lie  had 
found  nothing  but  a  knife,  and  a  pocket- 
book  with  some  money  in  it,  which  he  re- 
stored untouched — and  from  this  it  seem- 
ed that  Mr.  Rooney  Rug_  more 
honest  than  he  professed  to  be. 

After  his  stealthy  search  for  something 
which  he  expected  to  find,  apparently,  but 
did  not  find,  on  the  person  of  the  Left- 
hander, the  tramp  dragged  himself  back 


118 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


to  his  mattress,  looking  around  him  as  he 
did  so.  The  result  seemed  discouraging. 
The  apartment  was  perfectly  bare — there 
was  absolutely  no  place  whatever  to  con- 
ceal anything.  He  then  lay  down  on  his 
mattress,  closed  his  eyes,  and  after  awhile 
fell  asleep. 

On  the  next  morning,  which  was  quite 
bright,  Mr.  Kooney  Ruggles  rose  much 
refreshed,  partook  of  breakfast,  and  stated 
his  intention  of  applying  for  work  in  the 
neighborhood.  Did  anybody  really  think 
that  he  was  in  earnest  about  the  wheat- 
stacks?  lie  would  scorn  it,  and  meant  to 
live  by  the  sweat  of  his  brow. 

"  It  is  better,"  said  the  Lefthander,  scn- 
tentiously. 

"I  mean  to  do  it, mate, for  I'm  a  hon- 
est man,"  said  Mr.  Ruggles. 

And  having  swung  his  stick  with  the 
bundle  over  his  shoulder,  Mr.  Ruggles 
grinned  amicably,  and  took  his  departure. 

Three  days  after  this  scene,  Harry  tried 
to  raise  his  head  from  the  pillow  one 
morning  and  could  not  do  so.  He  wras  a 
vigorous  youth,  but  there  are  enemies 
which  spare  no  class.  One  of  these  ene- 
mies is  pleuro-pneumonia. 


XXXIX. 

SHINGLES. 

OWING,  apparently,  to  admiration  for 
the  scenery  of  the  mountains,  and  no 
doubt  inspired  by  an  ambition  to  earn  his 
li\ing  houe>tly,  Mr.  Rooney  Ruggles,  af- 
ter leaving  Crow's  Nest,  stopped  at  the 
fir.4  house  he  saw  to  ask  for  work.  This 
happened  to  be  the  residence  of  Mr. 
Gibbs,  the  manager  of  the  Falling  Wa- 
ter estate;  and  chancing  to  find  Mr. 
(iil)bs  in  an  uncommonly  good  humor,  he 
preferred  his  request  under  favorable  cir- 
cumstances. 

Looking  at  his  rags,  Mr.  Gibbs  at  tir-t 
hesitated,  whereupon  Mr.  Ru^l«s  uiv\\ 
painfully  modest  and  submissive.  This 
conciliated  Mr.  Gibbs,  and  Mr.  Ki]uru:l 
then  made  a  plausible  speech.  II.-  Wtt 
poor  but  honest — he  was  a  lover  of  law 


and  order.  His  clothes  were  poor  enough, 
but  they  were  good  enough  to  work  in. 
All  he  wanted  was  a  job,  and  he  would 
ijive  satisfaction  or  leave  at  once. 

This  was  straightforward  talk,  and  Mr. 
Gibbs  invited  him  in  to  dinner.  Beef 
and  turnips  having  further  ameliorated 
the  sentiments  of  Mr.  Gibbs,  he  asked 
what  his  guest  was  good  for?  He  was 
mainly  good  for  shingles,  Mr.  Ruggles  re- 
sponded ;  that  was  his  trade  where  he 
came  from.  But  he  was  willing  to  do 
anything.  As  to  pay,  he  would  not  ex- 
pect much.  All  he  wanted  was  to  make 
an  honest  living,  and  have  enough  to  eat, 
and  any  sort  of  farm  work — 

But  Mr.  Gibbs  rcconducted  the  conver- 
sation to  shingles.     He  required  a  largi 
number  to  reshingle  his  barn,  and  con- 
cluded an  agreement;  and  on  that  very 
day  Mr.  Haggles  went  to  work. 

Mr.  Ruggles  evidently  understood  hii 
trade.     Having   been   provided  with  an 
axe,  a  drawing-knife,  a  crosscut-saw,  and 
an  assistant  in  the  shape  of  a  youthful 
African,  he  repaired  to  the  wootl-. 
structed  a  work-bench,  and  proceeded  td 
fell  the  timber  and  saw  it  into  proper] 
lengths.     This  effected,  he  informed  Mr. 
Gibbs  that  he  required  no  further  a» '.st- 
ance ;  and  splitting  up  his  blocks,  he  was 
soon  surrounded  with  piles  of  shavings 
and  shingles,  which  the  manager  in 
rounds  surveyed  with  much  satisfaction. 
On  these  occasions  Mr.  Ruggles  was  al 
ways  found  extremely  busy,  and  was  eveii 
unaware,  from  absorption  in  his  work,  ofl 
Mr.  Gibbs' s  approach  until  he  was  cloi 
behind  him  and  accosted  him.     This  as- 
siduity   produced    a    good    impressionJ 
Here  was  a  treasure;  and  Mr.  Gibbs  COM 
tinued  his  rounds  with  a  high  opinion  oil 
his  employe's  industry. 

As  soon,  however,  as  Mr.  <  Iil>bs  was  outl 
of  Mu'lit,  Mr.  Riiggk-s  would  yield  t<>  rev- 
erie. His  drawing-knife  would  cease 
produce  shavings,  and  sometimes  lie! 
would  rise  and  wander  away,  looking  at 
the  trees  with  the  air  6f  an  expert  decicH 
inuj  upon  the  adaptation  of  certain  giant! 
of  the  wood  to  the  purpose  of  shinglesJ 
These  tour,0,  of  inspection  would  generally 


VIRGINIA 

lead  him  toward  Crow's  Nest.  Here  he 
would  sometimes  iind  Gentleman  Joe  and 
fthander — sometimes  only  one  of 
them  —  at  other  times  neither  of  them. 
Finding  them  at  home,  the  visitor  would 
enter  into  friendly  conversation,  and  men- 
tion with  honest  pride  that  he  had  just 
finished  a  lot  of  live  thousand  superior 
shingles  for  Mr.  Gibbs's  barn,  and  liked 
the  neighborhood  so  well  that  he  thought 
he  would  take  up  his  permanent  residence 
in  it.  Finding  his  hosts  absent,  he  did 
not  at  once  retire,  and  seemed,  indeed,  to 
think  that  the  next  best  thing  to  seeing 
them  was  to  see  how  they  were  getting 
along. 

There  was  a  lock  on  the  door,  of  which 
either  the  Lefthander  or  Gentleman  Joe 
always  kept  the  key  ;  but  Mr.  Ruggles  re- 
garded the  fact  as  unimportant.  The 
back  window  afforded  a  perfectly  con- 
venient means  of  entrance ;  and,  availing 
himself  of  it,  he  reached  the  interior  with- 
out the  least  difficulty.  On  such  occa- 
sions his  proceedings  were  curious.  He 
seemed  to  be  inspecting  the  establishment 
with  the  view  of  renting  it.  He  survey- 
ed every  object  around  him  with  great  in- 
terest—  the  blankets,  the  walls,  and  the 
floor.  Neither  of  the  latter  seemed  to 
meet  wholly  with  his  approval.  Where 
there  was  a  hole  in  the  plaster  of  the  room 
he  examined  it,  inserting  his  claw-like  fin- 
gers into  the  cavity ;  but  for  the  absurd- 
ity of  the  idea,  one  might  have  supposed 
that  Mr.  Ruggles  was  looking  for  some- 
thing. Where  the  planks  of  the  floor 
were  in  like  manner  defective,  and  an 
orifice  appeared,  Mr.  Ruggles  repeated  his 
examination,  as  though  speculating  upon 
the  expense  of  improving  the  premises, 
previous  to  which  he  apparently  consider- 
ed it  desirable  to  remove  any  rubbish  be- 
neath, which  he  proceeded  to  do  by  in- 
serting his  arm  up  to  the  shoulder,  and 
feeling  about  under  the  flooring. 

The  result  of  these  inspections  had  not 
appeared  satisfactory,  and  he  had  ascended 
to  the  upper  rooms,  where  he  displayed  re- 
doubled interest  in  every  object.  A  dark 
closet  full  of  dust  and  broken  bottles 
aroused  his  attention,  but  ended  in  be- 


ll'.i 

coming  a  subject  of  indifference.  He 
then  sounded  the  plastering,  to  ascertain, 
probably,  if  the  hou.se  was  well-built — the. 
conclusion  being,  to  judge  from  the  dis- 
satisfaction on  his  countenance,  that  it 
was  not.  After  three  visits  of  this  de- 
scription, during  which  every  part  of  the 
premises,  including  the  out-houses,  were 
subjected  to  an  exhaustive  examination, 
Mr.  Rooney  Ruggles  ceased  to  enter 
through  the  back  window,  or  in  any 
other  manner,  and  had  evidently  made 
up  his  mind  not  to  rent  the  establish- 
ment as  a  residence  for  himself  and  his 
family. 

Occasional  cessation  of  the  work  of 
shingle -making  seemed,  however,  to  be 
necessary  to  the  well-being  of  Mr.  Rug- 
gles, who  evidently  liked  variety,  and  a 
little  recreation  now  and  then.  This 
craving  induced  him  to  absent  himself 
at  intervals,  with  the  concurrence  of  Mr. 
Gibbs,  and  visit  Piedmont  for  the  pur- 
pose of  lounging  on  the  tavern  porch 
there.  He  was  not  regarded  as  a  va- 
grant by  the  landlord.  He  had  recon- 
structed his  habiliments  until  they  ap- 
proached the  limits  of  respectability,  and 
patronized  the  bar  in  a  creditable  man- 
ner. He  never  exceeded  or  was  boister- 
ous. He  took  his  drink  like  a  gentle- 
man, the  landlord  declared,  and  was  a 
genial  sort  o'  feller,  who  never  liked  to 
drink  by  himself.  He  was,  indeed,  re- 
markably jovial  and  friendly  on  such  oc- 
casions, and  anybody  could  see  that  he 
wras  an  honest,  open-hearted  person,  of 
social  tastes  and  generous  disposition. 

He  asked  a  great  many  questions,  and 
seemed  to  take  interest  in  everything  and 
everybody.  He  himself  was  a  stranger — 
he  had  come  from  the  West,  he  said.  lie 
liked  the  Virginians;  they  were  a  healthy, 
hearty  sort  of  people.  There  was  one 
man  he  had  seen  in  the  town  who  was 
worth  looking  at — a  big  man  with  black 
eyebrows  and  a  heavy  beard:  did  any- 
body know  him  ? 

Thence  information,  communicated  by 
one  of  the  tavern-loungers.  The  big  man 
had  been  a  circus  man.  He  lived  some- 
where up  in  Bohemia.  He  had  quarrel- 


120 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


led  with  old  Brownson,  of  Brownson's 
Unrivalled  Combination,  and  be  and  a 
child  of  his  had  left  the  company,  and 
he,  the  lounger,  had  met  them.  The  big 
man  asked  where  he  could  find  a  night's 
lodging  without  going  to  the  tavern  ;  had 
been  informed  that  Parson  Grantham 
never  turned  anybody  away ;  and  he  sup- 
posed they  had  spent  the  night  at  the 
parson's.  On  the  next  morning  they  had 
gone  away,  as  nobody  saw  them  again — 
the  big  man  might  have  got  into  trouble 
for  striking  old  Brownson — and  that  was 
all  that  he  knew  about  him. 

Mr.  Ruggles  listened  with  a  careless  air, 
said  he  supposed  that  was  the  reason  the 
big  man  had  gone  off ;  and  strolling  idly 
away,  reached  the  suburbs  where  Mr. 
Grantham's  house  was  situated.  He 
had  been  directed  to  it  by  a  citizen 
whom  he  met,  and  was  about  to  open 
the  small  gate  when  he  seemed  to  change 
his  mind.  Perhaps  the  subject  of  shin- 
gles suddenly  occurred  to  him,  and,  with 
the  natural  solicitude  of  an  honest  man, 
he  felt  that  he  ought  to  return  to  the 
hills,  and  add  to  the  pile  already  stand- 
ing neatly  arranged  in  rectangular  fashion 
in  the  woods.  Something  certainly  did 
cause  him  great  preoccupation  of  mind, 
and  this  apparently  led  to  his  taking  the 
wrong  path.  Having  left  the  town,  he 
did  not  proceed  in  the  direction  of  the 
Gap,  but  toward  Wye,  the  vicinity  of 
which  he  reached  in  the  afternoon  just 
as  the  sun  was  sinking.  1I<-  ascertained 
the  exact  time  by  looking  at  a  handsome 
gold  watch  which  he  drew  from  a  private 
pocket,  and  the  time  of  his  arrival  seemed 
to  afford  him  satisfaction.  He  was  in  a 
glade  in  the  woods  between  two  rows  of 
large  oaks  within  sight  of  the  house  when 
he  looked  at  his  watch,  and  stood  there 
for  some  moments,  apparently  admiring 
the  largo  establishment. 

As  he  was  thus  engaged,  Mr.  Douglas 
Lascelles,  who  had  been  accidentally  look- 
ing from  an  upper  window  in  this  precise 
direction,  at  this  precise  hour,  issued  from 
the  front  door  of  the  mansion,  cane  in 
hand,  and  carelessly  strolled  through  tin- 
grounds  until  he  reached  the  glade  in 


which  Mr.  Rooney  Ruggles  was  stand- 
ing. The  appearance  of  the  tramp  tres- 
passing upon  the  Wye  grounds  did  not 
seem  to  excite  as  much  indignation  in 
Mr.  Lascelles  as  might  have  been  expect- 
ed. Indeed,  the  expression  of  the  gen- 
tleman's countenance  was  rather  one  of 
animation  and  inquiry.  He  even  made 
a  sign  of  intelligence  to  Mr.  Rooney 
Ruggles,  and  they  retired  together  into 
the  depths  of  the  woods,  conversing 
guardedly  as  they  went. 


XL. 

A   SLIGHT    SILHOUETTE   OF  MISS   GRUNDY. 

As  Mr.  Ruggles  left  Piedmont,  the  Tri- 
anon carriage  drove  past  him,  and  entered 
the  main  street.  It  contained  Mrs.  Ann- 
strong  and  Juliet,  and  they  had  come  to 
shop,  in  which  delightful  occupation  they 
were  soon  engaged.  Drawing  up  in  front 
of  Messrs.  Smith  &  Jones's,  they  entered, 
and  subjected  the  fall  goods  to  a  careful 
examination.  Nearly  the  whole  stock 
was  assiduously  displayed  upon  the 
counter,  and  an  hour  was  spent  in  rear- 
ranging them  after  the  ladies'  departure. 
But  then  Mrs.  Armstrong  purchased  two 
spools  of  sewing-silk,  and  was  bowed  out 
to  her  carriage  with  distinguished  con- 
sideration. 

She  then  proceeded  in  a  sort  of  tri- 
umphal progress  through  the  town,  stop- 
ped at  numerous  shops,  where  she  made 
small  and  discreet  purchases,  and  ended 
by  visiting  her  milliner,  whose  new  hats 
she  tried  on,  but  did  not  purchase  one. 

All  this  consumed  an  hour  or  two,  and 
the  sun  was  now  declining;  so  the  lady 
and  her  daughter  re-entered  the  carriage 
to  return  to  Trianon.  They  had  just 
taken  their  seats,  and  the  carriage  was 
about  to  move  off,  when  a  girlish  voice 
near  them  exelaimcd, 

"  You  really  must  not  go  before  I  speak 
to  you,  dear  Mrs.  Armstrong." 

The  lady  turned  her  head,  and  uttered 
a  profound  sigh,  which  was  followed  by  a 
radiant  smile. 


VIRGINIA   BOllKMIANS. 


121 


Miss  (Irundy  !"  she  exclaimed,  "  I  am 
-ally  charmed  to  sec  you." 

Whereupon  the  person  addressed  eame 
>  and  pressed  the  hand,  extended  through 
ie  window. 

Miss  Grundy  was  a  maiden  of  perhaps 

iirtv-ti\f  summers,  which,  robbing  her 

iceks  somewhat  of  their  youthful  bloom, 

lored  it  to  the  point  of  her  nose. 

•ut  any  one  could  sec  that  the  perennial 

irlhood    of    her    disposition    defied    the 

:  years,  and  that  her  feelings  were 

ifantile  in  their  sweetness  and  freshness. 

lie  was  dressed  in  the  height  of  the  fash- 

n,  and  could  scarcely  walk,  she  was  pull- 

I  back  so  tightly.     A  little  chip -hat, 

ich  as  is  worn  by  school  -  girls,  rested 

jon  her  curls — they  were  from  the  milli- 

er's,  but  then  they  were  just  the  color  to 

atch.     Her  gait  wras  gentle  and  timid, 

er  smile  full  of  a  caressing  ardor;  as  she 

3oke  to  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  Juliet,  she 

Denied  ready  to  clasp  them  in  her  arms 

rom  pure  girlish  impulse. 

"  Dear  Mrs.  Armstrong !"  said  Miss 
rundy,  "  you  and  Miss  Juliet  really  look 
larming.  I  never  saw  such  roses !" 

"  How  you  do  natter  people,  dear  Miss 
rnindy,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  with  her 
weetest  smile. 

"You  must  not  say  that — I  never  flat- 
er ;  what  a  lovely  day — " 

"Quite  charming.  We  came  to  town 
o  look  at  the  new  goods.  But  what  is 
ie  use  of  doing  so  ?  The  times  are  so 
earfully  hard.  Our  few  small  invest- 
nents  scarcely  bring  in  anything.  Poor 
uliet  has  not  even  a  winter  hat ;  and  as 
o  myself,  I  am  positively  in  rags,  Miss 
rrundy !" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  smoothed  down  her 
ich  silk,  which  was  loaded  with  lace, 
assing  her  hand  as  she  did  so  over  a 
ocket-book  in  her  side-pocket,  which  had 

very  considerable  number  of  bank-notes 
nit. 

14  Yes,  positively  in  rags ;  and  how  we 
re  to  live  I  don't  know ! — You  seem  so 
rosperous  in  Piedmont !  What  a  lovely 
carf  you  have  on!  But  you  always 
ress  in  such  exquisite  taste,  Miss  Grundy ! 
)o  come  and  see  us — we  are  so  lonely  at 


Trianon  !      Drive  on,  William,  or  we  shall 
not  be  home  in  time  l'»r  Ira.     Do  como 
and  we  us,  dear    Mi-s    (irundy;    \\«-   shall 
enjoy  it  so  much;  wr  ha\«-  BO  li1 
ciety  :  be  sure  and  romr  !      (,'•,<.,! 

And  the  carriage  l>ore  the  lady  away. 
As  soon  as  there  was  a  c.>i^ideraMe  in- 
terval between  herself  and  Mi>s  (irundy, 
Mrs.  Armstrong  drew  a  lon^,  divp  bivath, 
apparently  of  relief.  Then  a  heavenly 
smile  expanded  upon  her  countenance, 
and  she  said, 

"  What  a  horrid  old  thing !  Just  think 
of  her  girlish  airs.  She's  forty  if  she's  a 
day,  and  such  a  fearful  old  chatterbox ! 
She  would  have  stood  there  for  hours  and 
talked  me  to  death,  but  I  did  not  allow 
her  to  say  a  word !  I  saw  her  catch  her 
breath — she  was  ready  to  burst — I  really 
did  not  feel  safe  until  the  carriage  moved." 

And  Mrs.  Armstrong  positively  laughed 
aloud  at  the  success  of  her  diplomacy. 
She  then  assumed  a  tragic  expression,  and 
said, 

"  To  think  you  might  grow  like  Miss 
Grundy,  my  love !  and  have  a  pinched  old 
nose,  and  a  dreadful  scarf  like  that  on 
your  bony  old  shoulders,  and  pass  your 
time  in  tittle-tattle  and  picking  people  to 
pieces ! — For  heaven's  sake,  just  think  of 
it,  and  do  not  run  the  risk.  You  know 
what  I  mean,  dearest !  When  I  die  you 
cannot  live  by  yourself  at  Trianon,  and 
may  be  compelled  to  come  and  live  at 
Piedmont.  Would  you  like  that?" 

"No,  I  should  not  like  it  In  the  least, 
mamma,"  said  Juliet. 

"Then  you  really  ought  to  take  steps 
to  avoid  it,  dear.  Don't  you  think  it 
would  be  better  to  spend  your  winters  in 
Paris,  and  your  summers — shall  I  go  on  2" 

"  Yes,  mamma." 

"And  your  summers  at  Wye?" 

Miss  Juliet  looked  out  of  the  window, 
and  did  not  reply.    This  was  a  habit  with 
her,  and  her  mamma  did  not  furl! 
lude  to  her  darling  scheme.     1 
had  told  her  that  it  wa- 
tempt  to  worry  her  Juliet  into  anything, 
and  she  wisely  changed  the   subject  by 
exclaiming,  with  a   smile  which  showed 
her  still  beautiful  teeth, 


122 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"  Was  there  ever  such  a  fright  as  that 
old  Miss  Grundy,  with  her  red  nose  and 
her  fearful  scarf,  and  that  simper  on  her 
face  ? — she  gives  me  a  chill !  Just  as  sure 
as  we  are  sitting  here  she  has  gone  back 
home,  and  is  tearing  our  characters  to 
pieces,  Juliet." 

IIar>h  as  these  views  in  reference  to 
Miss  Grundy  may  appear,  we  regret  to 
say  they  were  fully  justified  by  the  young 
lady ;  for  Miss  Grundy's  life  was  absorb- 
ed in  attention  to  the  affairs  of  her  neigh- 
bors. She  had  been  a  blooming  girl  once, 
with  a  pretty  face,  and  a  zest  for  some- 
thing better  than  tittle-tattle ;  but  gradu- 
ally the  bloom  disappeared,  her  visitors 
fell  off,  her  suitors — she  had  had  them — 
cooled,  and  she  was  quite  deserted.  This 
arose  from  a  want  of  skill  on  Miss  Grun- 
dy's part;  she  unfortunately  allowed 
some  traits  of  her  character,  which  she 
thought  were  concealed,  to  reveal  them- 
selves. It  is  difficult  to  define  the  traits 
in  question  without  using  harsh  expres- 
sions; let  us  call  one  of  them  indirect- 
ness. She  liked  to  act — to  smile  upon 
people  and  caress  them,  and  then  go 
away  and  blacken  their  characters.  She 
dearly  loved  a  dish  of  scandal,  and  con- 
cocted it  from  the  slenderest  materials. 
"When  facts  were  wanting,  she  took  ref- 
uge in  her  imagination.  Her  curiosity 
was  iimrbid,  and  her  suspicion  immense; 
and  if  there  was  anything  to  be  known, 
she  would  know  it  by  some  means;  and 
what  she  could  not  discover  or  accomplish 
by  direct  means  she  accomplished  indi- 
rectly. She  had  a  taste  for  indirectness, 
ami  was  sly  by  nature,  finesse  was  her 
life — a  canker  eating  into  her  whole  char- 
acter. She  liked  to  be  roundabout  and 
secret  in  her  movements  —  that  fooled 
people.  Unluckily  she  ended  by  com- 
pletely fooling  herself.  People  crossed 
the  street  to  avoid  meeting  and  convers- 
ing with  the  smiling  Miss  (irun.ly.  Her 
MM  red  and  pinched.  Her  pretty 
figure  had  grown  bony.  She  was  very, 
very  girlish  still,  but  people  laughed.  In 
a  philosophic  point  of  view  Miss  Grundy's 
life  had  been  a  failure. 

After  leaving  Mrs.  Armstrong,  or  rather 


being  left  by  her,  Miss  Grundy  raised  th< 
train  of  her  pull-back  dress  with  a  girli.« 
air,  and  proceeded  to  the  store  of  Me-si 
Smith  &  Jones,  where  she  made  minut 
inquiries  of  a  young  clerk,  whom  she  oc 
casionally  invited  to  tea,  as  to  Mrs.  ArmH 
strong's  purchases.    Having  been  inform-] 
ed  by  the  smirking  youth  that  Mrs. 
had  bought  two   spools  of  sewing  -  sill 
Miss  Grundy  smiled,  and  called  upon  Mi 
Wilkes,  the  milliner,  where  she  found  that 
Mrs.  Armstrong  had  not  purchased  a  wii 
ter   hat;    and    then,  having    ascertain* 
what  she  wished  to  know,  she  went  bad 
to  her  small  home  in  the  suburbs,  whei 
she  found  a  friend  who  had  dropped  ii 
to  tea — a  young  lady  with  tastes  siniih 
to  her  own. 

"Warm  kisses  and  embraces  were  ex- 
changed between  the  maidens,  and  Mis 
Grundy  said,  as  they  sat  down  to  tea, 

"  That  old  thing,  Mrs.  Armstrong,  wj 
in  town  to-day.     I  never  saw  such  aii 
and  graces,  and  such  overdressing  —  and! 
in  the  worst  taste,  my  dear  —  the  very] 
worst  taste  you  can  imagine  !" 

Miss  Grundy  was  accustomed  to  pro-l 
ceed  steadily  when  she  talked,  without 
much  regard  to  pauses,  and  to  catch  her 
breath  at  intervals,  apparently  to  avoid) 
being  interrupted. 

"I  really  have  no  patience  with  these  I 
people — they  are  nothing  but  sham — and! 
just  as  mercenary — oh  !  it  really  is  awful 
— they  are  doing  all  they  can  to  catch! 
that  horrid  Douglas  Lascelles  —  though 
the  way  I  hear  that  girl  goes  on  ought  to 
open  his  eyes,  and  I  don't  believe  he  has 
the  least  idea  of  marrying  her." 

Miss  Grundy  drew  a  deep  breath;  andl 
finding  that  her  friend  was  about  to  re- 
ply, exclaimed, 

"Just  think,  that  old  thing  turned  over 
all  the  goods  at  Smith  iv  Jones's,  and 
then  bought  only  two  spools  of  sewing- 
silk,  they  told  me — and  nothing  at  all  at 
Mrs.  AYilkes's —  there  was  nothing  good 
enough  for  her,  I  suppose — for  she  really 
thinks  she  is  above  us,  and  looks  down 
on  us  poor  people  in  Piedmont  as  if  we 
were  dirt  beneath  her  feet — I  assure  you 
she  does." 


VIUCIMA  P.OIIKMIANS. 


123 


The  maiden  visitor  slowly  shook  her 
end,  and  as  she  was  sitting  near  tin-  tea- 
ot  she  poured  out,  in  an  absent  ami  pre- 
upied  manner,  a  third  cup  of  tea  for 
herself,  and  said  that  she  never  had  had 

tieh  opinion  of  Mrs.  Armstrong. 

"Opinion    of    her!''    exclaimed    Miss 

rundy,  "who  can  have  any,  dear? — her 
shameful  treatment  of  that  sweet  Mi-s 
Bassick  would  be  enough  if  there  was 
othing  else — it  really  is  disgusting!  — 
'Cinda — >he's  the  maid,  you  know,  and 
used  to  live  with  us — came  and  told  me 
everything,  and  anything  more  shocking 
than  the  way  she  goes  on  with  that  sweet 
young  thing  could  not  be  imagined — I 
assure  you,  on  my  word,  my  dear,  it  could 
not  be  imagined.  Just  to  think  !  she  beats 
her — positively  beats  her,  and  then  locks 
her  up  on  bread-and-watcr  in  the  garret 
till  the  poor  dear  thing  is  nearly  starved ! 
And  then  to  come,  after  such  disgraceful 
if| conduct,  sailing  into  town  with  her  silks 
oil  and  satins,  and  her  daughter  dressed  up 
like  a  peacock,  with  her  smirks  and  sim- 
pers, and  her  airs  and  graces,  while  that 
poor  Miss  Bassick  is  locked  up  in  the 
garret !" 

The  maiden  friend  shook  her  head  with 
deep  solemnity,  and  as  her  cup  was  empty 
she  casually  refilled  it — it  was  her  fourth. 

"Is  it  possible,  my  dear?"  she  said. 
11  Oh,  it  can't  be  possible !" 

"  But  'Cinda  told  me  all  about  it,  and 
you  know  that  she  would  never  have  said 
so  if  it  was  not  true — yes,  poor  Miss  Bas- 
sick !  I  pity  her,  and  no  one  but  a  tyrant 
would  be  cruel  to  a  helpless,  inoffensive 
girl  —  the  best  and  sweetest  creature  in 
the  world,  as  you  can  see  from  her  face, 
and—" 

"  People  say  she's  sly,"  said  a  thin, 
piping  voice  with  a  shake  in  it — which 
voice  came  from  the  chimney-corner, 
where  the  half-palsied  old  aunt  was  nod- 
ding over  her  knitting. 

Miss  Grundy's  face  suddenly  flushed 
with  displeasure.  As  she,  Miss  Grundy, 
was  the  owner  of  the  house,  and  her  aunt 
lived  with  her,  this  ill-bred  intrusion  and 
virtual  contradiction  very  naturally  excited 
her  indignation. 


"Miss  l>assiek  ,v///.'"  she  exclaimed. 
"I  really  would  be  glad  t«»  know  what 
you  mean."1 

44  She's  a  sly  one,  they  d«»  say,"  piped 
the  thin  voice  in  reply.  "  I've  hi-ard  it 
said  she's  a  >ly,  designing  ereaturV 

At  this  Mi>s  ( Inmdy's  indignation  o\.  r- 
tlowed,  and  she  frankly  stated  her  opinion 
of  those  people  who  regarded  nothing  a-> 
sacred,  and  wantonly  repeated  ev.-ry  id!.. 
and  ill-natured  word,  every  vulgar 
dal,  tending  to  the  injury  of  oth< •; 
such  a  thing  were  tolerated,  no  one  \\a- 
safe.  To  call  Miss  Bassick  «////  with 
that  heavenly  face!  It  really  was  too 
bad  !  Would  the  aged  lady  kindly  con- 
tinue her  knitting,  and  not  interpose  with 
such  ill-natured  snarls?  which — she  was 
sorry  to  have  to  use  the  word — were  quite, 
disgusting. 

Miss  Grundy,  to  be  brief,  fell  into  a 
good,  wholesome  fit  of  anger. 

"  Miss  Bassick  is  an  angel,  and  her  life 
is  made  a  burden  to  her  —  'Cinda  savs 
so !"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  and  I  shouldn't 
wonder  if  that  frumpy  old  creature  has 
gone  back,  and  is  storming  at  the  sweet 
dear  thing  at  this  very  moment." 

Now  it  really  was  singular  that  some- 
thing of  that  sort  was  occurring  at  Tria- 
non. Mrs.  Armstrong  had  told  Juliet 
that  Miss  Grundy  would  go  off  and  pick 
her  character  to  pieces ;  and  Miss  Grundy 
now  intimated  the  possibility  of  a  slight 
misunderstanding  bet  ween  Mrs.  Armstrong 
and  Miss  Bassick.  The  two  ladies  seem- 
ed to  appreciate  each  other. 


XLI. 
MISS  BASSICK'S  PRIVATE  POST. 

As  the  Trianon  carriage  drove  into  the 
grounds,  on  its  return  from  Piedmont,  the 
two   ladies   observed   that   a   h-»r- 
standing  at  the  rack,  and  this  they  recog- 
nized as  belonging  to  Mr.  La-cellrs. 

The  carriage  rolled  up  to  the  door,  and 
as  it  did  so  the  keen  eyes  of  Mix  Arm- 
strong saw  a  shadow  pass  across  the  win- 
dows of  the  drawing-room;  the  lamps 
were  not  lit,  but  a  fire  was  burning  in  the 


124 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


apartment;  and  as  the  front -door  was 
open,  this  shadow  was  seen  to  disappear 
silently  up  the  staircase,  taking  as  it  did 
so  the  graceful  shape  of  Miss  Bassick.  A 
moment  afterward  Mr.  Douglas  Lascelles 
came  out  of  the  drawing-room,  and  assist- 
ed the  ladies  to  descend  from  their  car- 
riage. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  rustled  in,  expressing 
warmly  her  pleasure  at  the  gentleman's 
visit  —  she  was  so  glad  he  had  waited; 
would  he  excuse  her  while  she  went  up- 
stairs to  take  off  her  wrappings? — Juliet 
would  stay  and  entertain  him  —  what  a 
charming  evening  !  And  then,  beaming 
outwardly,  but  internally  raging,  Mrs. 
Armstrong  went  up-stairs.  She  did  not 
go  to  her  own  apartment  but  to  Miss 
Bassick's,  and  there  she  found  the  young 
lady  seated  by  her  little  table  industrious- 
ly sewing,  and  looking  innocent. 

Mrs.  Armstrong,  having  entered  the 
room,  stood  looking  silently  at  Miss  Bas- 
sick. She  gasped  a  little  —  her  feelings 
seemed  to  overcome  her.  She  had  plain- 
ly seen  Miss  Bassick  flit  by  the  drawing- 
room  windows  and  up  the  staircase,  and 
she  was  naturally  outraged  by  this  sud- 
den fit  of  industry. 

"  Miss  Bassick !"  she  said. 

"Yes,  ma'am,"  said  Miss  Bassick, 
meekly. 

u  Will  you  be  good  enough  to  inform 
me  why  you  were  in  the  drawing-room 
just  now  ?" 

"In  the  drawing-room,  ma'am !"  ex- 
claimed Miss  Bassick,  with  an  air  of  heav- 
enly innocence. 

u  Yes,  mitt  1  I  will  make,  my  meaning 
plainer,  if  you  desire  it.  What  wuv  YOU 
doing  in  the  drawing-room?  Replacing 
Juliet  and  myself  with  Mr.  Lascelles?" 

"  Krplariii'j;  you  with  Mr.  Lascelles, 
ma'am  !" 

"You  dare  to  deny  it?" 

"Oh,  Mm  Armstrong!" 

tfisi  r»as>k-k  drew  forth  her  handker- 
chief and  wiped  her  eyes.  Her  innocence 
was  touching.  She  seemed  to  be  over- 
whelmed with  sorrow  and  surprise  at  such 
an  accusation,  and  cooed  in  her  low,  sweet 
voice, 


"  I  should  never  think  of  doing  such  a 
thing,  Mrs.  Armstrong !" 

Thereat  the  elder  lady  quite  lost  her 
temper. 

"  I  saw  you !"  she  exclaimed  ;  "  I  saw 
you  as  you  ran  out  of  the  room  and  up 
the  staircase,  you  designing  thing !  You 
were  in  the  drawing-room — sitting  there 
with  Mr.  Lascelles !  Two  of  the  chairs 
were  drawn  up  close  to  each  other! — do 
you  hear  what  I  say,  miss  ? — nearly  touch- 
ing each  other ;  and  you  occupied  one  of 
them !" 

At  this  very  rude  and  unfeeling  insinu- 
ation Miss  Bassick  sniffed,  and  exhibited 
an  intention  to  dissolve  into  tears. 

"  How  could  you  think  of  such  a  thing, 
ma'am  ?"  sobbed  Miss  Bassick,  wiping  her 
eyes. 

"Persons  are  not  obliged  to  think,  or 
exercise  their  imaginations  as  to  your 
proceedings,  miss !"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong. 
"  You  were  there  in  that  drawing-room ! 
you  were  seated  in  one  of  those  two  chairs, 
and  Mr.  Lascelles  was  seated  in  the  other 
close  to  you — heaven  knows  how  close ! 
You  presumed  to  occupy  my  drawing- 
room  and  do  the  honors  of  my  estab- 
lishment in  my  absence !  Deny  it,  and 
I  will  ascertain  the  fact  from  Mr.  Las- 
celles !" 

Now,  as  Miss  Bassick  had  been  seated 
in  the  drawing-room,  in  one  of  the  ehairs 
close  beside  Mr.  Lascelles,  and  as  she  had 
unfortunately  been  detected  in  her  hasty 
retreat,  which  she  made  at  once  when  she 
heard  the  carriage  coining,  it  really  seem- 
ed a  very  difficult  matter,  indeed,  to  con- 
ceal or  deny  the  fact  any  longer.  Find- 
ing this  impracticable,  Miss  Bassick  had 
recourse  to  the  next  best  thing — a  plausi- 
ble explanation.  She  did  not  mean  to 
say,  she  faltered,  in  her  low  cooing  voice, 
that  she  }m<l  not  been  in  the  <//v/ //•/////- 
room.  She  had  exchanged  a  few  words 
—  they  were  very  few  —  with  Mr.  Las- 
eelles.  She  was  in  the  room  arranging 
the  fire  when  he  came,  as  she  knew  Mrs. 
Armstrong  liked  a  cheerful  blaze  when 
she  returned  in  the  evening;  and  Mr. 
Lascelles  had  bowed  to  her,  and  engaged 
her  in  conversation — and — and — she  had 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


125 


not  intended —  '  I  lore  Miss  Bassick  wept 
•  and  sunk  to  silence. 

Now,  long  and  intimate  acquaintance 
iwith  Mi^s  Bassiek  liad  not  tended  to  im- 
press Mrs.  Armstrong  with  the  conviction 
(that  her  word  was  to  be  relied  on.  The 
statement  may  seem  ungallant,  but  such 
was  the  fact.  The  handsome  face  \\a-> 
(wet  with  tears,  and  the  graceful  figure 
'shook;  but  then  it  was  barely  possible 
I  that  what  the  aged  aunt  of  Miss  Grundy 
had  said  was  true — that  Miss  Bassick  was 
a  "  sly  one." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  stood  looking  at  her 
for  some  moments.  Then  she  said, 

"  Very  well,  miss !  You  are  very  good 
at  explaining  away  what  you  cannot  deny 
— that  is  one  of  your  traits.  You  were 
in  the  drawing-room,  then,  with  Mr.  Las- 
celles.  If  the  circumstance  occurred  so 
naturally  as  you  say  it  did,  why  did  you 
steal  off  in  that  secret  way  ?  No,  don't 
answer  me.  You  are  ready,  no  doubt, 
with  another  plausible  explanation  —  I 
am  tired  of  them.  I  have  only  one  thing 
more  to  say,  miss,  and  that  is  that  you 
will  either  keep  your  place  in  this  house 
or  you  will  leave  it !" 

"  Oh  !  ma'am,  if  you  will  only  overlook 
it  this  time — " 

"  I  will  overlook  it  if  you  give  me  your 
promise  that  you  will  claim  no  further 
acquaintance  with  Mr.  Lascelles,  retire  to 
your  room  when  he  visits  Trianon,  and 
never  exchange  another  word  with  him." 

"  I  promise  you  I  will  not,  ma'am," 
Miss  Bassick  said,  in  her  sad,  sweet  voice. 

ki  \Vc  understand  each  other,  then.  If 
what  occurred  this  evening  occurs  again, 
you  will  please  find  another  home,  Miss 
Baaeick." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  turned  her  back  and 
swept  out  of  the  room,  banging  the  door 
behind  her.  As  she  disappeared  Miss 
Bassick's  handsome  arched  eyebrows  sud- 
denly came  together,  and  rising  to  her 
feet,  she  looked  after  Mrs.  Armstrong 
with  her  red  lips  slightly  opened.  Un- 
der them  her  teeth  were  set  together. 

"The  old  hag!  how  I  hate  her!  I 
could  have  sprung  upon  her  and  choked 
her !  I'll  do  it  some  day  !"  she  said. 


And   it    really   did  semi   fr..m    I1 
piv— i<>n    «,f  Mis>   r,a>sidx's   face   that  she 
would    l»e    equal    to    the    performance    i.f 
this  tragic   act.      Her  cheeks   \\ere   tlu>h- 
ed,  her  1...S..M1   was  heaving,  and  h. 
and    figure    had    the    powerless    and    \  «-t 
menacing  look  of  a  woman  in  a  r 

The  paroxysm  did  not  last  \ery  IMM-.J. 
The  flush  disappeared  gradually  fnun  lid- 
cheeks,  and  her  handsome  eyebrowi  r<- 
sumed  the  arch.  She  went  to  her  mir- 
ror, carefully  brushed  and  arranged  her 
hair  by  the  light  of  her  small  lamp,  and, 
looking  at  herself,  began  to  smile.  As 
she  continued  to  look  into  the  mirror  the 
smile  grew  brighter,  the  red,  pouting  lips 
showed  the  white  teeth  under  them,  which 
were  parted  now;  and  with  a  coquettish 
toss  of  the  head  Miss  Bassick  said,  in  a 
confidential  tone, 

"  I  think  you  will  do,  miss.  He  ought 
to  see  me  now,  instead  of  that  stupid 
Juliet." 

As  she  had  set  the  tea-table,  and  was 
not  required  down -stairs,  Miss  Bassick 
opened  her  desk  and  began  to  write  a 
letter.  She  wrote  rapidly  and  in  a  beau- 
tiful hand,  filling  two  sheets  of  note-paper 
in  a  very  brief  time.  She  then  folded 
them,  placed  them  in  a  dainty  envelope, 
and,  cautiously  opening  her  door,  listened. 
The  ladies  and  Mr.  Lascelles  were  at  tea, 
and  descending  silently  the  back  stair- 
case, Miss  Bassick  stole  through  the 
grounds,  emerged  from  them  through  a 
small  gate  used  for  pedestrians  going  to 
Piedmont,  and  then,  making  a  circuit, 
came  out  near  the  larger  gate  in  front. 
She  then  hastened  along,  walking  very 
rapidly,  until  she  reached  a  spot  com- 
pletely concealed  from  the  house,  where 
a  ledge  of  rock,  nearly  covered  with  cedar- 
bushes,  extended  along  one  side  of  the 
road. 

It  was  now  quite  dark,  but  Mi 
sick  did  not  seem   to   mind  that.     She 
went  on  with  the  air  of  a  person  p 
ly  acquainted  with  the  ground,  and  pric- 
ing behind  the  ledge,  which  dipp 
ward  the  east,  put  her  hand  into  a  crevice 
and  drew  out  a  letter.     This  she  put  in 
her  pocket,  and  replaced  with  the  letter 


126 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


which  she  had  just  written  in  her  cham- 
ber. 

It  was  the  private  post-office  of  Miss 
Bassick  and  Mr.  Lascelles. 

Having  transacted  the  business  con- 
nected with  her  private  mail,  Miss  Bas- 
sick retraced  her  steps,  and  regained  her 
chamber  unseen.  She  had  not  been  ab- 
sent more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  and 
during  that  time,  at  least,  she  calculated, 
the  ladies  would  be  at  tea.  They  had  not 
returned  with  Mr.  Lascelles  to  the  draw- 
ing-room yet ;  but  they  did  so  in  a  few 
moments ;  and  then  Miss  Bassick  descend- 
ed to  her  own  modest  meal,  which,  when 
company  came,  she  took  after  the  rest. 

She  heard  the  murmur  of  voices  in  the 
drawing-room,  and  would  have  liked  to 
listen,  perhaps ;  but  a  maid  was  in  the 
room,  and  that  was  impossible.  At  last 
she  rose,  and,  as  it  was  not  against  orders, 
she  went  up  the  front  staircase  toward 
her  chamber.  The  drawing-room  door 
was  open,  and  Mr.  Lascelles  was  sitting 
nearly  facing  it  as  Miss  Bassick  came  out. 

As  she  passed  over  the  few  feet  be- 
tween the  door  and  the  staircase,  Miss 
Bassick  found  time  to  do  three  things: 
the  first  was  to  assume  an  exquisitely 
coquettish  attitude ;  the  second  was  to 
fix  her  seductive  eyes  on  Mr.  Lascelles 
and  smile;  and  the  last  was  to  make  a 
significant  gesture  toward  the  wood,  where 
she  had  deposited  her  letter.  She  then 
flitted  up  the  staircase  and  went  to  her 
chamber.  Not  the  least  indication  had 
appeared  on  the  face  of  Mr.  Lascelles  that 
he  had  seen  Miss  Bassick  as  she  passed. 


XLII. 

NAILS. 

MR.  LASCELLES  returned    to   AY 
about  nine  o'clock,  and  after  indulging  in 
a  meditative  rigar  in  the  library,  retired 
to  his  chamber. 

lie  had  found  Miss  Bassick's  letter  in 
the  private  post-office.     It  was 
witty  and  brilliant  composition,  on  pink 
note-paper,  and  described  the  interview 


with  Mrs.  Armstrong  in  a  delightful  man-l 
ner.  The  style  was  gay  and  riant,  for  the] 
most  part,  but  the  note  ended  with  pa-j 
thetic  sighs.  Her  poor  life  was  wasting 
away  under  this  terrible  tyranny  —  sh< 
tried  to  laugh,  as  he  could  see,  but  it  was] 
by  no  means  real  laughter.  She  had) 
made  up  her  mind  at  last.  She  must! 
leave  Trianon ! 

Coming  to  the  end  of  the  note,  Mr.  I 
Lascelles  pondered.  Was  Miss  Bassick  in 
earnest?  Would  she  really  go  away? 
It  was  doubtful.  AVomen  were  curious] 
creatures,  and  did  not  tell  the  truth  al-j 
ways.  You  could  divide  them  into  two 
classes  —  the  weak  and  the  wicked.  If| 
they  were  intellectual,  they  made  up  forj 
that  by  being  bad.  If  they  were  good,] 
they  were  apt  to  be  feeble-minded. 
Those  who  were  personally  attract ivei 
were  generally  wicked,  and  he  preferred 
that  class  —  but  they  must  be  really  at- 
tractive. Was  Miss  Bassick  wicked  ?  She 
was  certainly  fascinating.  If  she  went 
away  he  would  miss  her.  To  see  her  had 
become  a  sort  of  necessity.  He  would 
go  on  the  very  next  day  and  have  a  con- 
fidential conversation  with  her  on  the' 
subject. 

Mr.  Lascelles  then  proceeded  to  medi- 
tate upon  another  and,  apparently,  less 
agreeable  subject.  He  passed  in  review 
a  series  of  incidents  following  each  other 
in  rapid  sequence.  The  first  of  these 
was  a  ride  which .  he  had  taken  some 
weeks  before  to  the  nearest  railway  na- 
tion. On  this  occasion  Mr.  Lascelle^  hid 
evidently  expected  some  one  by  the  ni^ht 
train,  and  this  some  one  seemed  to  have 
duly  arrived.  He  was  a  respectable  look-; 
ing  person,  with  a  travelling-  valise,  and 
got  out  quietly.  \YIien  Mr.  Lascelles  a3 
quietly  nodded  to  him  and  rode  off,  the 
new-comer  slowly  followed  him.  Having 
reached  a  body  of  woods  near  the  station, 
Mr.  Lascelles  had  stopped — the  traveller 
had  joined  him — and  they  had  remained 
in  conversation  for  nearly  an  hour,  after 
which  Mr.  Lascelles  had  ridden  back 
home.  As  to  the  man  with  the  valise, 
appearance  at  the  station  had  ex- 
cited a  mild  amount  of  speculation  in  the 


VIRGINIA    r.olIKMlANS. 


ind  of  the  agent  there,  he  was  not  seen 
,  ;ind  passed  into  oblivion. 

true  that  there  was  a  remarkable 
between  tin1  respectable  night- 
uveller  and  Mr.  Uooney  Ruggles,  but 
on  resemblances  not  unfrequcntly  oc- 
r — aiul  it  was  quite  absurd  to  regard  it 
anvthing  more  than  a  chanee  likeness, 
ould  be  no  possibility  that  the  re- 
ectable  personage  to  is  Mr.  Ruggles,  un- 
ss  he  carried  a  tramp  outfit  in  his  valise. 
bich  was  preposterous.  Such  things 
e  read  of  in  novels,  but  never  happen  in 
al  life,  which,  being  a  real  thing,  is  ncc- 
ssarily  commonplace,  and  never  violates 
•  •labilities.  Therefore  the  night-trav- 
er  had  disappeared,  and  Mr.  Haggles 
id  made  his  appearance  upon  the  scene, 
lat  was  all.  The  former  was  highly  rc- 
ectable,  as  anybody  could  see  from  his 
ack  suit,  while  Mr.  Ruggles  was  a  tramp, 
both  his  costume  and  his  accent  plain- 
showed;  but  he  was  not  on  that  ac- 
unt  unworthy  of  respect.  We  must 
scriminate.  The  man  who  scorns  to 
irn  a  wheat-stack,  and  means  to  live  by 
>nest  work,  is  not  a  tramp,  however 
>meless  lie  may  be.  Now  Mr.  Rooney 
jggles  was  living  by  honest  toil ;  he 
Lad  a  contract  for  making  shingles ;  this 
[applied  him  with  daily  bread.  But,  then, 
he  winter  was  approaching,  and  Mr.  Gibbs 
plight  have  no  further  need  for  his  ser- 
rices :  under  these  circumstances  it  was 
pot  unnatural  that  he  should  look  for 
vork  elsewhere,  which  may  have  led  to 
us  accidental  interview  with  Mr.  Lascelles 
n  the  grounds  of  Wye.  It  was  not  a 
pleasant  interview  altogether,  and  soon 
HBninated.  Mr.  Lascelles  was  now  think- 
ng  of  it,  and  of  another  interview — that 
Lvith  the  Lefthander  at  Crow's  Nest,  and 
also  of  the  conversation  with  him  on  the 
icxt  day  on  the  bridge. 
!  Mr.  Lascelles  looked  extremely  dissatis- 
ified.  He  was  smoking  a  cigar  as  he  re- 
flected, and  emitted  short,  hot  puffs  in- 
jstead  of  languid  smoke- wreaths — a  sign  of 
mental  disturbance.  He  was  obviously 
very  much  disturbed,  indeed,  and  a  moral 
lecturer  might  have  set  him  up  on  a  plat- 
form as  an  illustration.  Here  was  a 


jrontluinan    surround. •.!    by 
comfort,   and    luxury.      He   had    no 

ted  \\itli  the  low  subject  of 
money.  He  was  in  excellent  health, 
and  occupied  a  high  social  position. 
Here, assuredly, WM  <>ne  of  the  f-i-tunate 

ones  of  the  world — but  appcara!!' 
often  deceptive.  A  nail  s. Mined  to  be 
hidden  in  his  shoe  somewhere,  and  it 
fretted  him.  He  had  probablv  driven 
the  nail  himself,  and  \va<,  n«»  doubt,  very 
sorry  that  he  had  done  so;  but  there  it 
was.  And  nails  of  that  description  a: 
difficult  to  extract.  They  have  a  fa>hi<.n 
of  clinching  themselves  on  the,  other  side, 
and  no  matter  how  you  tug  at  them  they 
will  not  come  out. 

Why  had  Mr.  Douglas  Lascclle- 
hammered  in  that  nail  in  the  sole  of  the 
handsome  slipper  he  was  wearing  ?  And 
the  obstinate  thing  had  a  way  of  shifting 
about.  When  he  came  down  in  the 
morning  to  the  bright  breakfast-table  in 
his  low  -  quartered  shoes,  there  was  the 
nail  in  the  low-quartered  shoes.  AYhen 
he  drew  on  his  elegant  riding -boots  to 
take  a  ride,  there  was  the  same  nail  in 
the  boots.  And  at  night,  when  he  put 
on  his  worked  slippers,  and  leaned  back 
in  his  arm-chair,  a  sharp  prick  seemed  to 
say,  "Here  I  am  waiting;  let  us  talk  a 
little."  Why  had  Mr.  Lascelles  ever  had 
anything  to  do  with  nails?-  Oh,  why- 
had  he  been  so  thoughtless  and  injudi- 
cious as  to  insert  this  one?  The  inser- 
tion of  nails  shows  a  wrant  of  good  sense. 
They  always  prick  you.  Is  not  honesty 
the  best  policy,  even  in  a  worldly  point 
of  view,  and  the  pleasure  of  hammering 
in  nails  an  inadequate  recompense  for  the 
festering  sores  which  they  occasion  .' 

He  was  still  holding  Miss  Bassick's 
note  in  his  hand,  and,  as  his  ei^ar  had 
gone,  out  he  twisted  it  and  made  use  of 
it  as  a  lighter. 

"  What  a  little  devil  she  is !''  he  mut- 
tered; "she's  setting  her  cap  at  me!" 

He  uttered  a  short  laugh,  and  threw 
away  his  cigar. 

"I  am  not  fool  enough  to  marry  a 
head  -  servant !"  he  muttered.  He  then 
went  to  bed. 


128 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


XLIII. 

THE   DANGER  OF  DELIRIUM. 

HARRY  VANCE  had  a  hard  time  of  it. 
For  a  week  or  two  he  was  burnt  up  by 
a  raging  fever,  and  his  mind  constantly 
wandered,  as  his  vague  muttering  indi- 
cated. 

An  old  physician  of  the  neighborhood 
had  been  promptly  sent  for,  and  visited 
him  thereafter  regularly,  doing  all  that 
was  possible  for  him.  One  other  visitor 
made  his  appearance  as  regularly  —  Mr. 
Cary. 

He  had  hastened  to  the  bedside  of  the 
poor  boy  at  once,  and  at  first  was  urgent 
that  he  should  be  removed  to  Falling 
Water.  It  was  obviously  impossible  to 
move  him,  however;  and  Mr.  Cary  con- 
tented himself  with  watching  over  him, 
and  riding  every  day  to  Crow's  Nest. 

On  one  of  these  occasions  Frances  beg- 
ged permission  to  accompany  him — the 
young  man  had  saved  her  life,  she  said, 
on  the  day  of  the  panther  hunt — and  her 
father  agreed  to  her  wishes. 

The  consequence  was  that  Mouse  and 
Frances  became  acquainted,  and  on  other 
visits  which  duly  followed  they  became 
intimate.  The  spectacle  of  the  minute 
house-keeper  "  in  command  "  seemed  to 
amuse  and  touch  the  young  girl.  One 
day  she  stooped  down  and  kissed  Mouse, 
and  said, 

"I  think  I  am  beginning  to  love  you 
very  mm-h." 

They  were  alone  at  the  moment,  and 
llai-rv  was  lying  asleep  on  his  poor  couch. 
Mr.  Cary  had  ridd.'ii  a  little  farther  to  see 
some  one  on  business,  promising  soon  to 
return ;  ami  as  both  Gentleman  Joe  and 
the  Lefthander  were  temporarily  absent, 
the  three  persons  were  the  sole  occupants 
of  CrowV  Nest, 

"  Of  course  /  love  you  very  much  in- 
deed, Mi-s  IVaiiees,"  said  Mouse.  4k  1  am 
sure  you  are  good,  from  your  face,  and  it's 
a  comfort  to  have  you.  Will  you  please 
be  still,  sir,  and  go  to  sleep?"  she  added 
to  Harry,  who  was  muttering  something. 
"Your  gruel's  not  ready,  sir." 

There  was  a  wistful  affectation  of  hu- 


mor in  the  address.  The  poor  boy  v 
feverish,  and  wandering  in  his  mii 
Frances  turned  her  head  and  looked 
the  pale  face. 

"  Poor  fellow  !"  she  said. 

"Take  care,  Lefthander!"  mutter 
the  young  man ;  "  that  weight's  t 
heavy !  You  will  hurt  yourself,  Le 
hander !" 

He  then  turned  his  head  faintly,  wi 
his  eyes  still  closed,  and  said, 

"  It's  a  shame,  father !    You  ought  n 
to  make  fun  for  such  rabble !     You  are 
gentleman — come,  go  away  with  me, 
ther.     Don't  make  faces   any  more, 
will  work  for  you  ;  what  better  can  yo 
boy  do  than  take  care  of  you  ?    You  to 
care  of  me  when  I  was  a  little  one ;  n< 
it's  my  turn,  father." 

"He  is  kind,"  murmured  France 
"  what  a  pity  !  Oh,  what  a  pity  !" 

Her  eyes  filled  as  she  looked  at  hi 
but  a  quick  blush  followed,  burning  h 
cheeks.  Harry  had  begun  again,  and  tl 
is  what  he  muttered : 

"  Take  care,  Mouse !  you'll  fall.  Doi 
dance  without  chalk  on  your  feet.  Y 
frighten  me.  I  have  been  frighten 
once  before  to-day.  Did  you  notice  th 
carriage  in  the  street  which  ran  again 
the  car?  There  was  a  girl  in  it — she  w 
so  beautiful !  Oh,  so  very  beautiful  !- 
She  was  near  losing  her  life  under  t 
hoofs  of  the  horses,  and  I  caught  her 
my  arms,  and  held  her  close  to  my  hea 
a  moment!  Only  a  second!  —  close 
me — her  heart  against  mine !  I  can  c 
now,  remembering  that !" 

Frances  stole  a  quick  look  at  him  ;  h 
face  was  glowing.  She  knew  now  w 
had  saved  her  that  day. 

"  I  never  saw  her  again  but  once,"  t 
siek  man  went  on  muttering,  "it  \ 
day  when  her  horse  ran  off — there  \\ 
some  danger  from  a  panther.     She  w 
more  beautiful  than  before;  is  it  wroi 
to   say  that?     I   am   nothing  —  but  t 
star  can  shine  on  the  clod  of  earth. 
shall  not  see  her  again  ;  is  it  wrong  to 
member  her — and — love  her?" 

A  burning  blush  reddened  the  cheekj 
of  Frances  Cary,  and  she  attempted  t 


VIRGINIA    HolIKMIANS. 


129 


smile;  but  her  eyes  filloil.  Then  tliis 
poor  boy  had  twice  saved  her  life;  he 
liad  told  no  one;  but  lie  h:ul  saved  her! 

"My  own  poor  Harry!"  said  Mouse, 
piteously,  "  what  is  he  saying?" 

"His  good,  brave  In-art  is 
said  Frances,  with  a  little  sob.  Then  the 
smile  eame;  it  was  delicious  to  the  wom- 
an's heart  to  have  inspired  this  love. 

"  Ho  is  still  now,"  she  whispered.  "Oh, 
if  he  were  to  —  not  to  get  well!  He 
seems  to  love — his  father  sol" 

"  The  doctor  says  he  will  get  well  now," 
sobbed  Mouse,  "  and  I  think  he  will.  He 
is  such  a  good  boy !  We  could  not  live 
without  him." 

"  You  love  him  very  much,  I  can  see 
that,  and  I  trust  he  will  not  leave  you, 
Mouse.  I  know  your  little  heart  would 
break  if  he  wrere  to." 

"  Y-e-s,"  sobbed  Mouse,  "  we'd  never 
hold  up  any  of  our  heads  after  it,  and 
never  think  of  getting  up  the  troupe  any 
more." 

"Getting  up  the  troupe?  What  do 
you  mean,  dear  ?" 

"  I  mean  the  troupe  with  the  monkey," 
replied  Mouse,  sobbing,  and  wiping   her 
eyes.     "  We  are  going  to  have  a  troupe 
and  go  on  our  travels  again.     You  know 
an't  stay  here  always." 

"  Why  can't  you  stay  ?" 

"  This  house  is  not  ours." 

"  Yes,  indeed,  it  is !" 

Mouse  shook  her  head. 

"  People  must  not  be  idle  in  this  world, 
neither  must  they  be  dependent." 

Mouse  uttered  this  noble  sentiment 
with  the  air  of  a  Roman  matron,  but  the 
less  heroic  Frances  put  her  arms  around 
her  and  said, 

"You  dear,  good,  kind  little  Mouse! 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  flowers  in  May  ? 
Well,  you  are  as  welcome  here  as  they 
are." 

As  though  to  intimate  that  other  per- 
sons were  included  in  this  welcome,  Fran- 
ces looked  at  Harry,  and,  nodding  toward 
him,  said, 

"Is  he  related  to  you,  Mouse?" 

"No,  not    exactly    related/'  said    the 
small  nurse,  with  a  meditative  air ;  "  but 
9 


it's  pretty  much  the  same,  as  (Jentleiiian 
Joe  is  like  a  father  to  me.  My  real  fa- 
ther is  the  Lefthander." 

"  What  curious  names'."   ^\t\   \-, 
smiling.       "  Where     did    they    e?6t 
them  ?" 

"Well,"  Mouse  replied,  with  a  serious 
look,  "of  course  they  are  not  tln-ir  real 
names,  as  Gentleman  Joe's  name  is  Mr. 
Vance,  and  poppa's  is  Ottemlorf. -r." 

"But  why  not  keep  their  real  name-  r" 

Mouse  shook  her  head. 

"You  never  belonged  to  a  circus — 
they  give  everybody  a  nickname.  Then: 
was  Mr.  Melville  —  he  was  *  Long  Tom,' 
and  Mr.  Robinson,  he  was  'Old  Jimmy/ 
Gentleman  Joe  was  so  polite  that  they 
gave  him  that  name  in  the  circus,  and 
poppa  was  called  the '  Lefthander'  because 
he  is  left-handed." 

"  He  is  very  strong,  is  he  not  ?" 

"Strong!"  cried  Mouse.  "He  is  so 
strong  that  I  believe  he  could  lift  up  a 
horse  or  a  cow  and  carry  it  on  his  shoul- 
ders— I  really  believe  he  could !" 

"And  is  he  good  to  you?" 

"Good  to  me?  — Poppa?  Why,  of 
course  he  is  good  to  me !  He  is  good  to 
everybody — he  wouldn't  hurt  a  mouse." 

"  Well,"  said  Frances,  smiling  as  she 
looked  at  the  fresh  little  face,  "  that  ac- 
counts for  his  not  hurting  you,  you  dear 
little  Mouse !  Who  in  the  world  ever 
gave  you  such  a  name  ?" 

"  I  think  it  was  Long  Tom.  He  was 
very  fond  of  giving  people  nicknames." 

"  And  he  gave  you  yours  because  he 
thought  you  were  so  little  ?" 

"Yes,  I  suppose  that  was  the  reason. 
There's  not  much  of  me,  you  know." 

"  What  is  your  real  name  ?" 

"Do  you  mean  my  real,  real  name? 
My  real  name  is  Mademoiselle  Cole-tine 
Delavan  — that's  on  the  bills  — but  my 
real,  real  name  is  Mignon  Ottendorfer." 

"Mignon!     That  is  very  prett 
you  are   Miss  Mouse  Celc-tine    I>ela\an 
Mignon   Ottendorfer?      Mercy!    what   a 
tremendous  name !     It  is  more  than  you 
are  entitled  to." 

"I  haven't  much  use  for  all  of  it. 
Mouse  is  sufficient  for  the  Big  Babies." 


130 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"  What  Big  Babies  do  you  mean  ?" 
"Gentleman  Joe  and  Harry  and  pop- 
pa," said  Mouse.  "  I  call  them  my  Big 
Babies  because  they  require  so  much 
looking  after,  and  are  always  on  my 
mind.  You  really  have  no  idea  of  the 
trouble  they  give  me.  Sometimes  I  can't 
manage  them  at  all — they're  so  contrary. 
They'll  tramp  about  and  catch  cold,  and 
do  all  sorts  of  things  they  ought  not  to 
do — oh  !  men  are  so  contrary  that  there's 
hardly  any  way  to  get  the  better  of  them. 
The  Babies  treat  me  sometimes  just  as  if 
I  was  not  responsible.  Oh  me !  they're 
a  hard  set — and  yet  they're  very  respect- 
able people.  Sometimes  I  feel  almost 
like  giving  up — and  Harry's  sick  because 
he  wouldn't  mind  me.  I  told  him  not 
to  go  night-fishing,  but  he  would,  and  got 
wet ;  and  now  see  what's  come  of  it — oh 
me !  what's  come  of  it !" 

"You  dear  little  mamma,  don't  be 
depressed ;  he's  sure  to  get  well.  What 
a  venerable  head  of  an  establishment ! 
You  odd  little  Mouse,  you  make  me 
laugh  so  sometimes  that  it  ends  in  my 
crying  —  you  dear  little  mamma,  with 
your  responsibilities  and  your  Big  Ba- 
bies !" 

Thereupon  Frances  kissed  Mouse,  and 
smoothed  her  curls  back  from  her  face. 

"  Do  you  know  one  thing,  Mouse  ?"  she 
said,  "you  are  not  the  least  bit  like  a 
tramp's  daughter." 

"That's  what  Harry  says,"  responded 
Mouse;  "but  lie's  always  trying  to  get 
around  me,  and  blind  me,  so  as  to  make 
me  let  him  do  as  he  chooses.  That's  the 
way  with  all  of  them.  But  I  don't  mean 
to  let  'em  fool  mr." 

"So  he's  good  t«»  you,  like  the  rest 
Is  lie  amiable  and  considerate?     Does  he 
behave  himself  ?" 

"  Not  al \\avs.  I  haven't  much  to  com 
plain  of  except  that  lie  tries  to  get  arount 
me  by  petting  me." 

"  That's  not  such  a  terrible  proceeding 
What's  his  nickname,  Mouse?" 

"He  hasn't  got  any  except  Harry 
That's  his  real  name." 

"  And  he's  the  youngest  of  your  Ba 
bies?" 


"  Yes ;  he's  nothing  but  a  boy,  and  ye 
ic  is  just  as  hard  to  manage  as  the  rest 
He's  harder.    Oh,  he's  an  obstinate  one, 
;an  tell  you  !    It  is  all  I  can  do  to —    G< 

0  sleep  again  this  minute,  sir !     What  dc 
:ou  mean  by  opening  your  eyes  and  star-1 
ng  at  me  so  ?" 

And  as  Mr.  Gary  returned  at  this  in< 
ment  for  Frances,  the  young  lady's  inter- 
iew  with  Mouse  terminated. 

She  rode  home  by  her  father's  side  inl 
silence :  she  was  thinking.  At  last  she] 
said, 

"  Papa,  did  you  see  who  saved  me  that] 
day  in  Piedmont  ?" 

"  When  we  had  the  accident  to  the! 
carriage?  It  was  one  of  the  circus  men,j 

1  think." 

"It  was  this  poor  sick  boy  here  at, 
brow's  Nest.  I  found  it  out  from  his 
muttering.  And  then  he  saved  me  again 
from  the  panther  —  how  brave  he  must] 
be!" 


XLIV. 

THE   CLOD   AND   THE   STAR. 

HARRY  VANCE  grew  better.  It  is  good 
to  have  a  close-knit  constitution.  It  is 
better  than  huge  muscle  which  excels  in' 
lifting ;  but  the  slender  race-horse  limbs] 
are  made  for  endurance. 

Mouse  was  by  the  young  fellow's  side 
all  the  time  as  before,  and  one  day  they 
were  speaking  of  his  delirium  during  the 
fever.  Mouse  told  him  that  he  had  spoJ 
ken  of  the  accident  at  Piedmont,  and  oft 
holding  Frances  Gary  in  his  arms,  while 
she  was  listening  by  his  bedside;  where- 
upon Harry  Vance  blushed  crimson,  and 
demanded  just  what  had  escaped  him. 
Mouse  had  no  difficulty  in  repeating  his 
words  and  the  blush  grew  deeper,  lie 
had  saitl  that  he  lornl  In  r. 

"  That  was  unfortunate,"  he  said,  in  a 
low  voice. 

Mouse  looked  at  him  with  an  inquiring 
glance, 

"  To  have  told  her— that— " 

He  stopped. 

"That  you  loved  her?     That's   w 


VIRGINIA   BOHEMIANS, 


LSI 


you  said,  you  foolish  Harry,  and  I'd  like 
to  know  why  you  shouldn't  say  it  if  you 
wanted  to." 

"  I  was  era/y — out  of  my  head — or  I 
never  would  have  said  so." 

"  You  were  out  of  your  head,"  said 
Mouse,  philosophically  ;  "  but  that's  not 
the  point,  sir.  I  don't  see  why,  if  you 
were  /;/  your  head,  you  haven't  a  right 
to  love  people,  and  have  people  love  you, 
too !" 

Harry  looked  with  wide  eyes  at  Mouse, 
and  said,  in  a  low  voice, 

"You  can't  mean — " 

"  Yes,  I  do,"  said  Mouse,  manfully  ;  "  I 
mean  you  are  good  enough  for  any  lady 
in  this  land." 

Harry  Vance  knit  his  brows ;  then  he 
said,  mournfully, 

"My  poor,  dear  little  Mouse!  it  is 
good  to  be  as  young  and  ignorant  as  you 
are.  You  love  me — you  love  everybody, 
for  that  matter,  your  heart  is  so  big; 
but  you  forget  who  and  what  I  am." 

"You  are  my  own  dear  Harry,"  she 
said,  putting  her  arms  around  his  neck, 
and  pressing  her  lips  to  his  pale  face. 

"Yes,  you  love  me,  I  say,  and  your 
love  is  precious  to  me.  But  you  are  not 
others.  To  them  I  am  a  poor  vagabond, 
neither  more  nor  less.  Did  you  ever  hear 
of  what  is  called  a  zero,  Mignon  ?  It  is  a 
thing  which  stands  for  nothing.  I  am  a 
zero." 

"  You  are  our  Harry,  sir ;  and  any 
one  might  be  proud  to  love  you — even 
dear,  sweet  Frances  Gary !" 

Harry  Vance  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
blushing.  For  the  first  time  the  latent 
spirit  of  bitterness,  and  revolt  at  his  low 
fortunes,  betrayed  itself  in  the  manner  of 
the  poor  boy. 

"  You  might  as  well  expect  the  star  to 
stoop  to  the  clod,"  he  said.  "  The  star 
shines  on  the  clod,  but  does  not  stoop  to 
it;  and  if  the  clod  is  wise  it  will  keep  its 
place." 

"  Oh,  Harry !"  protested  Mouse,  "  don't 
think  of  yourself  so." 

"  I  think  of  myself  as  I  am,  dear,"  he 
said,  losing  his  bitterness,  and  speaking 
softly  and  gently.  "  We  are  poor  and 


humble,  but  that  does  not  matter  imu-h. 
The  sun  shines  for  us,  and  tin-  sky  U  ifl 
Miie  as  it  is  for  others;  only  your  talk- 
ing in  this  wild  way  makes  it.  not  so  blue 
to  inc.  That  is  enough  now,  dear — it  is 
rather  sad  to  talk  of  sueh  thi: 

lie  put  both  arms  around  her. 

"At  least  you  love  me,"  In-  said. 

Whether  it  was  that  Harry  Vance  had 
risen  from  bed  sooner  than  ho  ought  to 
have  done,  or  that  this  scene  with  Mou-e 
acted  unfortunately  upon  his  nervous  sys- 
tem, it  is  certain  that  on  the  very  same 
evening  he  had  a  return  of  fever;  and 
this  led  to  an  incident  of  an  unex 
character. 

The  young  man  had  lain  down  on  his 
couch,  telling  no  one  that  he  felt  the  fever 
back  in  his  pulses ;  and  as  he  had  covn-.-d 
his  head,  they  supposed  that  he  had  fallen 
asleep.  The  rest,  therefore,  retired,  and 
in  an  hour  the  long  breathing  of  one  and 
all  indicated  that  they  were  asleep. 

Then  Harry  Vance  rose  quietly,  left 
Crow's  Nest,  and  went  out  into  the  night. 
He  was  hot  with  fever,  and  his  steps  were 
uncertain.  Did  he  even  know  where  he 
was  going  ?  It  seemed  so,  since  he  went 
straight  on,  through  the  night,  toward 
Falling  Water. 

Frances  Gary  was  in  the  library  finish- 
ing a  letter;  it  was  about  ten  at  night, 
and  Mr.  Gary  had  gone  to  his  chamber 
only  a  few  moments  before  —  Frances 
promising  to  retire,  in  her  turn,  when  she 
had  filled  her  sheet  of  note-paper. 

All  at  once  she  raised  her  head.  Steps 
crossed  the  porch,  the  front-door  opened. 
then  the  door  of  the  library;  and  Harry 
Vance  came  in,  his  head  bare,  his  fa<-<> 
flushed,  his  eyes  full  of  a  vairin-  pain. 

"I  did  not  mean  to,"  he  said,  in  a 
faint,  trembling  voice;  "  you  heard  me — I 
did  not  wish  you  to  hear  me — it  was  my 
fever — and  I  did  not  know  you  were  at 
my  bedside." 

He  drew  a  long  breath,  tremblin_ 
looking  at  her.    His  eyes  betrayed  t 
cret  of  the  poor  boy's  heart — an  unuttera- 
ble tenderness  transfigured  his  whole  face. 

"  I  am  nothing,"  he  went  on,  in  a  bro- 
ken and  faint  voice.  "  I  would  not  dare 


132 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


— not  because  you  are  a  young  lady  ;  be- 
cause you  are — what  you  are.  I  did  not 
mean  to  say  that  I  had  held  you  in  my 
arms.  You  will  not  think  of  it  any  more 
— since  I  tell  you  I  am  sorry.  I  was  very 
sick  and  weak — I  am  well  now,  you  see, 
and  have  come  to  ask  you  to  forgive  me.' 

"  Oh  no  !"  exclaimed  Frances,  blushing, 
and  with  tears  in  her  eyes,  "  there  is  noth- 
ing to  forgive.  You  saved  me — I  should 
have  been  killed." 

"  I  never  meant  you  to  know,"  he  mur- 
mured. "  I  thought  it  might  make  you 
feel  ashamed.  I  had  to  lift  you  from 
your  carriage.  I  could  not  do  that  with- 
out putting  my  arms  around  you.  I  did 
not  mean  to  tell  any  one." 

His  eyes  half  closed,  and  his  body, 
which  he  seemed  to  have  held  erect  by  a 
strong  effort  of  the  will,  moved  a  little  as 
a  tree  does  in  the  wind. 

"  I  only  came  to  tell  you  this — I  could 
not  live  without  telling  you.  You  will 
forgive  my  raving,  as  it  was  only  raving. 
You  will  never  see  me  any  more — " 

lie  stood  for  an  instant  looking  at  her 
and  trembling.  She  had  half  risen.  He 
came  one  step  toward  her. 

"  I  shall  never  see  you  again.  Good- 
bye !"  he  said,  looking  at  her  as  if  his 
heart  were  breaking,  and  holding  out  his 
hand.  Frances  held  out  her  own,  and  he 
tried  to  take  it.  The  effort  was  too 
much  for  him.  He  tottered,  fell  upon 
one  knee  bo-ide  her  chair,  and,  if  she  had 
not  put  her  arm  around  him,  would  have 
fainted  and  fallen. 

"When  Mr.  <  'ary,  in  hi*  d rr>- in <_:-'_:•< .\vn, 
hastened  to  the  library,  where  lie  heard 
voices,  the  young  man  was  ..n  his  knee 
thus  by  the  young  lady's  chair,  with  his 
face  re>tin^  on  the  hand  he  held,  and  her 
arm  supporting  his  head.  She  ran  and 
got  a  da--  of  water  and  moistened  his 
forehead.  At  the  touch  of  her  linger-  he 
opened  his  eyes  and  rose  to  his  feet,  look- 
ing vaguely  around  him.  Ten  minute* 
afterward,  in  spite  of  every  effort  which 
Mr.  ('ary  made  to  persuade  him  to  remain, 
ho  went  away. 

The  clod  and  the  star  had  mad 
other's  acquaintance! 


XLV. 


A   FEMALE   MANCEUVRER. 

"NELLY,  you  certainly  are  the  greatest 
goose  I  have  ever  known  in  my  life ! 
is  such  a  luxury  to  know  any  one  wel 
enough  to  speak  one's  real  sentiments 
Mercy !  not  marry  him  when  he  lovei 
you  so  much?  You  deserve  to  die  an 
old  maid,  which  you  certainly  will,  if  you 
go  on  so — and  your  last  days  will  be  em- 
bittered by  remorse,  too,  you  unreasonable 
thing." 

It  was  Frances  Gary  who  made  these 
few  remarks  to  Nelly  Welles.  Finding 
that  it  was  a  superb  morning,  and  a  little 
tired  of  confinement,  she  had  proceeded 
to  tease  her  papa  into  allowing  her  to 
ride,  and  see  Nell}7,  without  escort ;  had 
duly  overcome  him — for  she  was  a  spoil- 
ed child,  and  naturally  argued  that  what 
she  wished  was  from  the  nature  of  things 
perfectly  proper — and  mounting  the  small 
riding-horse  kept  for  her  special  use,  had 
soon  reached  the  house  in  the  mountains. 

Having  beamed  on  the  whole  house- 
hold, with  whom  she  was  by  this  time 
well  acquainted,  for  she  and  Nelly  1  ad 
exchanged  numerous  visits,  and  had  Be- 
come desperately  intimate,  Miss  Frances 
inquired  with  interest  after  Mr.  Elliot — 
had  he  gone?^  Receiving  from  the  guile- 
less Daddy  AVelles,  who  was  in  the  room, 
at  the  moment,  the  assurance  that  Mr. 
Elliot  had  not  yet  been  able  to  tear  him- 
self away  from  the  deer,  and  was  tl  at 
morning  in  pursuit  of  those  wild  animals, 
Miss  Frances  smiled  significantly,  and, 
turning  to  Nelly,  proposed — ferns. 

"You  know  you  dote  on  ferns,  Nelly, 
as  much  as  I  do,  and  papa  is  just  as  fond 
>f  thorn.  Think  of  an  old  soldior  like 
:r,\\rti  being  as  fond  of  flowers  as  he  is! 
lie  loves  his  xinnias  and  petunias,  I  do 
•eliovo,  as  much  as  he  loves  me.  I  pre- 
fer ferns  ami  grasses,  don't  you?" 

Nelly  responding  that  she  did,  Frances 
proceeded  to  observe  that  there  were  no 
ferns  worth  speaking  of  in  the  vicinity  of 
n-r  own  home,  but  superb  varieties  among 
the  rocks  near  Daddy  AYolles's,  and  it 
was  decided  that  they  should  take  a 


VIRGINIA    P.OI1KM1ANS. 


ramble  in  the  woods  and  look  for  them. 

(Nelly  put  on  her  hat,  and  Frances  Cary 

,'liaving  skilfully  pinned  up  her  skirt,  to 

te>;  leave  her  movements  free,  they  set  out  on 

I;  their  ramble. 

fell  Ferns  are  an  innocent  passion  of  the 
ajfemale  sex,  and  have  this  advantage — that 
vJlooking  for  them  admits  of  conversation. 
aJSo,  as  they  rambled  about,  Nelly  and 
t  Fraiu-es  talked. 

"  What's  become  of  Mr.  Brantz  Elliot 
— whv  isn't  he  at  home  making  himself 
agreeable,  Nelly?  I  don't  pretend  to 
compare  myself  with  the  lordly  sex,  but 
if  I  were  a  young  man — which  Heaven 


I'm  glad  I  am  not — and  lived  in 
the  house  with  you,  I'd  find  something 
better  to  do  than  hunt," 

Dear  Frances!"  Nelly  said,  with  a 
faint  color  in  her  cheeks,  "  how  you  do 
run  on." 

"  Hunting  deer  !  He'd  show  his  taste 
by  hunting  another  sort  of  deer,  spelled 
with  an  a." 

Having  made  which  brilliant  witticism 
Miss  Frances  laughed  approvingly.  Nelly 
did  not  reply.  She  was  looking  with  deep 
interest  into  a  crevice  in  the  rocks,  where 
some  ferns  were  growing,  and  this  seem- 
ed to  render  it  necessary  for  her  to  turn 
away  her  head.  Her  face  was  thus  hid- 
den from  her  companion,  but  her  neck  was 
not,  and  there  came  such  a  flush  upon  it 
that  Frances  suddenly  cried, 

"  You  are  blushing,  Nelly.  Your  very 
neck  is  crimson.  Mercy !  is  there  any- 
thing you've  not  told  me,  you  mean 
thing?  There  is  something!  He's 
courted  you — you  know  he  has — or  he 
i>  u'oing  to !" 

Nelly  was  quite  overcome  by  this  ab- 
rupt charge.  It  brought  to  mind  every 
detail  of  the  scene  between  herself  and 
Brantz  Elliot.  There  had  been  no  repe- 
tition of  that  scene.  Nelly  had  not  given 
her  lover  the  least  opportunity.  She 
avoided  private  interviews  with  the  skill 
of  her  sex,  and  Brantz  Elliot  had  not 
found  a  single  opportunity  to  renew  his 
suit.  He  no  doubt  intended  to  do  so 
if  not,  why  did  he  not  go  ?  He  still  lin- 
gered in  the  mountain,  putting  off  his 


departure    from    day    to  day  ;   and    '.. 

vident  that  he  did  imt  regard  his  suit  as 
entirely  hoprle— .  In  spit.-  ..f  all,  how- 
ever, Nelly  had  adhered  to  IUT  resolution. 
It  was  hard,  and  nearly  broke  her  heart  ; 
but  she  was  more  determined  than  « -v.-r 
not  to  yield,  and  become  the  wife  of  tin- 
man she  loved,  who  hived  her  U> 
would  regret  their  union  afterward. 
Self-sacrifice  ennobles  and  endues  us 
with  a  mysterious  strength.  Nelly  had 
resolved  to  sacrifice  her  own  happ'n 
Brantz  Elliot's. 

"  You  know  he's  courting  you  ?    Don't 
deny  it,  miss.     Don't  attempt  to  <• 
anything  from  me — tell  me  about  it,  Nel- 
ly.     Oh,  it's  delightful !      So  romantie  ! 
Just  like  a  novel !     Mercy  !" 

Having  concluded  with  this  supreme 
expression  of  delighted  astonishment, 
Frances  put  her  arms  around  Nelly,  and 
taking  that  young  lady  by  the  chin,  turn- 
ed her  face  to  her. 

"  What  a  blush !"  she  cried.  "  That's 
enough.  Good  gracious!  Have  you 
said  yes,  Nelly?" 

Poor  Nelly  !  She  could  not  resist  her 
friend's  inquiry.  She  was  so  unhappy 
that  it  had  become  almost  a  necessity  to 
confide  her  unhappiness  to  some  one ;  and 
as  she  and  Frances  were  bosom  friei 
this  time,  she  told  her  everything. 

"It  was  so  hard,  Frances,"  she 
with  a  little  sob,  after  which  she  turned 
away  her  head,  and  put  one  of  her  hands 
to  her  eyes. 

This   was   pathetic,  but  Miss  Frances 
preferred  a   more  cheerful  view   of  the 
subject;    also,  the  occasion  admitted  of 
the   luxury    of  scolding;    she   tin 
burst  forth  into  the  tirade  recorded   in 
the  beginning  of  this  chapter,  to  t 
feet  tha£  her  friend  was  a  goose  for  re- 
fitting Brantz   Elliot,  and   would 
out  a  life  of  ancient  maidenhood  and  re- 
morse in  consequence. 

"Yes,  you  certainly  are  the  most  un- 
reasonable   thing   that   ever    lived.' 
added.     "A  judgment  will  come  of  it! 
Just  to  think   of  your  refu>in'_r  I 
fine  fellow  because  he's  rich  and  you  arc 
poor." 


134 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"I  wish  it  was  just  the  opposite," 
Nelly  Welles  said,  with  a  huge  sigh. 

"  And  have  him  getting  proud  and  re- 
fusing to  marry  Miss  Welles  because  she 
was  richer  than  he  was.  That's  very  fine 
reasoning,  miss !  How  would  you  like 
him  to  do  that?" 

Having  never  contemplated  the  subject 
in  this  light,  Nelly  only  sighed. 

"You  are  such  a  goose,  Nelly,  I  feel 
as  if  I  could  pinch  you.  Go  and  tell  Mr. 
Elliot  you'll  marry  him  this  moment." 

"  That  would  be  wedding  in  haste,  and 
we'd  repent  at  leisure,  I  suppose,"  said 
Nelly,  with  a  rueful  smile. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,  miss.  Tell 
him  this  moment,  I  mean  —  that  is,  just 
as  soon  as  you  have  an  opportunity. 
Have  you  seen  him  again  ?" 

"Of  course  I've  seen  him,  Frances.  I 
see  him  at  every  meal." 

"There  you  are  with  your  evasions 
again,  miss.  Seeing  people  at  meals  is 
not  seeing  them.  Have  you  had  any 
delightful  romantic  scenes,  I  mean  ? — by 
moonlight,  for  example — lover  seated  and 
gazing  upward  into  responsive  eyes,  low 
voices,  expressions  such  as  '  my  own !' 
*  my  dear  one !'  Has  there  been  any  of 
that?" 

"  No,"  murmured  Nelly,  laughing  and 
blushing. 

"  Then  you're  a  monster !  We're  told 
to  love  our  enemies,  and  you  don't  even 
care  for  the  happiness  of  those  who  are 
devoted  to  you." 

"  Oh,  I  wish  I  could  make  him  happy, 
but  I  cannot,  Frances!  Indeed,  I  ou^ht 
not  to  marry  Mr.  Elliot.  Such  marriages 
never  come  to  good.  He  would  become 
ashamed  of  me,  and  then  stop  caring  for 
me." 

"The  idea!     You  must  despise  him  !" 

"It  would  be  only  natural." 

"It  would  be  contemptible,  Nelly! 
Gracious!  what  can  one  think  of  a  man 
who's  ashamed  of  his  wife  ?  He  can't  be 
a  gentleman.  He  may  marry  a  poor  girl 
when  he  is  poor  himself,  and  afterward 
grow  famous  and  be  courted  by  every- 
body ;  but  if  he  is  ashamed  of  her  he  is 
not  really  a  gentleman,  Nelly.  I  don't 


know  how  you  feel,  but  if  I  was  a  man 
I'd  marry  for  love,  and  cherish  my  wife 
more  than  everything  in  the  world  be-] 
sides — as  I  know  he  would." 

As  this  "  he  "  evidently  referred  to  Mr. 
Brantz  Elliot,  Nelly  uttered  another  sigh. 

"  So  it's  all  arranged,  isn't  it,  Nelly  ?" 

"No,  it  is  by  no  means  arranged, 
Frances." 

"Do  you  mean  to  say  you  will  go  on 
saying  no  to  the  end  of  time?" 

"  I  can't  say  yes." 

"You  can,  you  obstinate  thing.  You 
know  you  want  to,  and — goodness !  yon- 
der is  Mr.  Elliot,  wandering  disconsolately 
down  the  stream.  He's  found  no  deer. 
I'm  certain  he's  been  sitting  down  some- 
where sighing,  and  not  seen  a  single  ob- 
ject around  him." 

"Come,  we  must  go  home,  Frances," 
exclaimed  Nelly,  in  sudden  alarm  at  the 
prospect  of  being  joined  by  Mr.  Brantz 
Elliot. 

"  We  will  do  nothing  of  the  sort, 
miss,"  returned  Frances,  in  high  delight 
at  the  idea  of  bringing  about  an  interview 
between  the  lovers. 

"  Oh,  Frances,  don't  keep  me  !" 

"  I  am  not  keeping  you,  miss ;  but 
common  politeness  requires  that  we 
should  not  run  away  when  a  gentleman 
approaches  us:  and  look,  he  has  seen 
us,  and  is  coming  up  the  mountain. 
What  a  fine -looking  fellow  he  is.  If 
you  won't  have  him  I  am  determined  to 
set  my  cap  at  him  !  Why,  he  walks  as  if 
lie  was  'shod  like  a  mountaineer,'  which 
reminds  one  of  the  song,  miss, 

"  '  With  music  to  fill  up  the  pauses, 
And  nobody  over-nour !' 

I  shall  discreetly  retire.  Common  pro- 
priety requires  that  I  should  do  so." 

This  proposal  evidently  produced  r\- 
tivnir  alarm  in  Miss  Nelly  Welles,  which 
she  proceeded  to  give  evidence  of  by  e: 
oUiming, 

"  Oh  no,  don't,  Frances !" 

"Good-morning  Mr.  Elliot ! — have  yoi 
been  hunting?     What  a  beautiful    dai 
Nelly  and  I  were  just  gathering  some 
these  exquisite  ferns." 


VIRGINIA    liollKMIANS. 


13.1 


'They  certainly  arc  pretty,  Miss  ( 'ary," 
aid  r>rantz  Elliot,  who  liad  joined  them 
y  this  time. 

"Are  they  not?      Could  you    get  me 
ime  grasses  to  go  with  them.'      I  dearly 
re    grasses.      Such  ferns !  and  what   a 
ad  we've    got!     I  really  must  go  and 
eg  Daddy  \\Ylles  to  lend  me  a  basket. 
Jo,  you  must  not  go  for  me;  you  must 
e  so  tired  from  your  hunting.     I'll  be 
ack  in  a  moment !" 

With  wliich  innocent  words  Miss  Fran- 
es  < 'ary  shot  a  glance  of  triumph  at  Nel- 
,  and  turned  to  go  back  to  the  house. 
uddenly  she  screamed.  They  had  all 
een  standing  facing  the  rocks  in  which 
ic  ferns  were  growing,  and  had  not 
card  the  steps  of  a  person  who  approach- 
i  them.  This  person  was  now  close  to 
icm,  and  indeed  Miss  Frances,  as  she 
irned  round,  suddenly  found  herself  face 
face  with  him.  It  was  Gentleman 
oe. 

"  Mercy  !"  exclaimed  the  young  lady ; 
I  thought  it  was  a  bear !" 
Thereupon  Gentleman   Joe  burst  into 
oyish  ecstasies  at  the  success  of  his  ruse 
surprise  them.     He  seemed  quite  con- 
ulsed,  and  executed  his  most  astonishing 
Timaces,  winding  up  by  contorting  his 
ystem  from  a  sense  of  deep  enjoyment. 
Nelly    plainly    hailed    his    appearance 
rith  satisfaction,  and  gave  him  her  sweet- 
st  smile. 

"  How  you  frighten  people,  Gentleman 

oe !"  she  said,  for  she  and  the  ex-clown 

Lad  become  perfectly  intimate  with  each 

Ither;    "you  might  have  thrown  us  all 

Into  hysterics !" 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  do  that,  Nelly — I 
love  you  too  much,  my  dear,"  said  Gentle- 
man Joe,  gradually  recovering  his  equa- 
limity. 

"  Then  you  must  go  back,  as  a  punish- 
Jjient,  and  get  Miss  Gary  a  basket;  she 
•pants  it  for  her  ferns." 

"  Oh  no  !"  Miss  Frances  exclaimed ;  "  I 
•  rill  go  myself — he  will  never  know  where 
lo  find  it;  but  he  may  carry  it.  Come, 
I  fr.  Vance !" 

A  wicked  smile  accompanied  the  words, 
Jjidicating  to  Nelly  her  friend's  intention 


to  thus  leave  her  alone  with  Kraut/.  Klliot. 
She  Mushed  t«»  the  very  roots  of  her  hair, 
and  seemed  not  to  know  \\hat  she  should 
do,  when  Klliot  came  to  her  a— istance. 
Tin1  young  huntsman  had  or  had  not 

comprehended  the  scene — if  In;  had  un- 
derstood it,  he  had  ivsolvol  not  to  inflict 
himself  upon  Nelly  if  she  did  not  wish  it. 
He  therefore  said  to  Frances, 

"Let  me  go  with  you  and  cany  the 
basket,  Miss  Cary.  I  have  nothing  in 
the  world  to  do.  Don't  trouble  yoiir>clf, 
Gentleman  Joe;  we'll  be  back  soon.  I 
am  ready,  Miss  Cary." 

Thus  came  to  an  abrupt  end  the  whole 
series  of  wiles  resorted  to  by  Miss  Frances 
Cary.  She  was  obliged  to  accept  Mr. 
Brantz  Elliot's  proposal,  and,  without  a 
single  smile  of  triumph,  went  with  that 
gentleman  in  the  direction  of  the  house, 
leaving  Nelly  to  enjoy  the  charms  of  the 
society  of  Gentleman  Joe. 


XLVI. 

GENTLEMAN    JOE   AND    HIS    GHOSTS. 

As  Brantz  Elliot  and  Frances  Cary 
walked  away,  Nelly  said  to  Gentleman 
Joe,  with  an  affectionate  smile, 

"  I  am  glad  you  came  over  to  see  us 
to-day,  Gentleman  Joe,  for  I  am  sure  you 
wanted  to  see  me —  It  has  been  nearly 
two  weeks  since  you  were  here." 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  wanted  to  see  you,  Nelly," 
replied  Gentleman  Joe.  "  I  always  want 
to  see  you,  and  when  I  am  not  with  you 
I  am  thinking  about  you,  my  dear." 

There  was  no  trace  of  his  recent  gro- 
tesquerie  in  the  speaker's  voice  or  face — 
he  was  quite  sedate  and  earnest,  and  look- 
ed at  the  girl  with  an  expression  of  great 
affection. 

"Harry's  been  very  ill,  and  I  could  not 
leave  him,"  he  added ;  "  we  thought  he 
was  going  to  die,  but  he  is  nearly  well  now." 

"I  am  so  glad  of  that.  He  has  been 
very  kind  and  sweet  to  me  whenever  he 
came  to  see  us — almost  as  kind  and  sweet 
as  you  have  been,  Gentleman  Joe,  and  that 
is  saying  a  great  deal." 

"  Have  I  really  been  kind  and  sweet  to 


136 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


you,  Nelly  ?"  Gentleman  Joe  said,  looking 
wistfully  at  the  girl. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  you  have." 

"I  am  very  glad  to  hear  it.  But  I 
don't  see  how  anybody  could  help  loving 
you,  my  dear.  You  see  I  am  an  old  man, 
and  old  men  can  tell  little  blossoms  like 
you  that  they  love  blossoms.  People  have 
various  tastes  in  this  world,  you  know — 
I  like  the  south  wind." 

"The  south  wind?" 

Gentleman  Joe  smiled. 

"I  mean  people  who  are  like  it.  I 
think  of  people  in  that  way,  and  feel  about 
them  instead  of  making  up  an  opinion  of 
them.  One  person  chills  me  like  a  north- 
wester, and  cuts  me  to  the  very  bone. 
It's  no  use  telling  me  that  it's  a  fine, 
healthy  wind,  and  clears  up  the  air,  and 
is  altogether  the  right  sort  of  wind — it 
makes  me  shiver!" 

"  Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean." 

"And  there  is  the  south  wind  when 
the  spring  comes.  People  may  abuse  it, 
and  say  it's  a  weak,  poor  sort  of  thing, 
and  makes  you  lazy,  and  is  not  a  high 
moral  wind;  but  I  like  it.  I  seem  to 
open  like  a  flower  when  it  blows  softly 
over  the  flowers  and  the  green  grass  under 
the  blue  sky.  You  are  my  south  wind." 

Gentleman  Joe  might  be  a  lunatic,  but 
there  was  evidently  a  method  in  his  mad- 
ness. Not  being  familiar  with  Shakspeare, 
Nelly  did  not  say  that  to  herself  in  the 
identical  words,  but  had  the  very  same 
idea  in  her  mind,  whic.h  was  a  proof  that 
Mr.  AVilliam  Shakspeare  was  a  man  of 
ability,  and  had  observed  human  nature. 

"  Well,  Tin  o-lad  enough  to  be  any- 
body's south  wind/'  she  said,  with  the 
rather  sad  smile  which  had  become  her 
habit  of  late. 

"  You  arc  mine ! — you  warm  me,"  re- 
turned Gentleman  Joe,  "  like  the  sun- 
shine. The  sunshine  is  a  uivat  thing, 
and  I  like  people  that  carry  it  about 
with  them.  Some  people  bring  a  cloud 
along  when  they  come — a  black  cloud, 
and  the  chill  wind  that  cuts.  You  bring 
the  south  wind  and  the  sunlight,  Nelly, 
and  a  poor  old  body  like  me  requires 
that." 


"  You  are  a  very  good,  kind  body,  ii 
you  are  a  poor  old  one,"  Nelly  said,  with  I 
an  affectionate  smile ;  "  and  I  must  be 
just  like  you  in  my  character,  for  every] 
word  you  say  just  expresses  what  I  feel,, 
and  it  seems  as  if  I  had  known  you  for 
years." 

"  Yes,"  Gentleman  Joe  said,  lost  in  re-] 
flection,  "  perhaps  we  have  met  someJ 
where.  I  have  been  in  many  places,  and] 
played  the  clown  before  a  world  of  peo-J 
pie.  If  you  were  in  the  crowd  I  am  cer-| 
tain  I  saw  you." 

"  In  such  a  crowd  ?" 

"  No  matter  about  the  crowd.  I  al- 
ways see  the  faces  I  like  to  see.  Often,; 
when  I've  been  turning  and  tumbling  in£ 
the  ring,  I've  fixed  my  eyes  on  some  child's 
face  in  the  audience,  and  seen  nothing  elsej 
from  that  minute.  I  was  playing  for  thai 
little  one,  you  see,  and  had  nothing  to  doj 
with  the  rest.  If  I  could  only  make  myl 
little  friend  laugh  and  please  her,  I  was 
satisfied,  Nelly." 

This  was  said  in  such  a  simple,  wistful 
way  that  Nelly  looked  at  Gentleman  Joe 
with  eyes  full  of  affection.  There  was  a 
hidden  poetry  in  the  feelings  of  the  old" 
ex-clown  which  touched  a  chord  in  hen 
own  breast,  and  was  in  unison  with  her 
habitual  mood  now — rather  a  sad  sort  on 
poetry,  but  then  poetry  is  generally  tinged  j 
with  sadness. 

"  What  a  strange  life  you  must  have 
led,"  she  said,  musing. 

"A  very  strange  life;  but  you  know, 
life  is  always  strange." 

M  And  very  sorrowful." 

"  Well,  I  don't  know,"  said  Gentleman^ 
Joe,  cheering  up — "  not  when  we  have  ourj| 
south  wind ;  we  depend  mostly  on  that 
Are  you  going  to  marry  the  young  deer- 
hunter,  Nelly  ?     I  ask,  you  know,  because 
if  you  do  you  will  p>  awav,  and  somej 
north-wester  will   come   along   and   chill 
me  for  want  of  my  sunshine." 

Nelly  colored,  and  a  slight  movement 
of  her  corsage  indicated  the  impression' 
made  by  Gentleman  Joe's  question. 

"  No,  I  am  not  going  to  marry  any- 
body," she  said,  in  a  low  tone. 

"  I  am  very  glad.     I  would  not  like 


V1KCIMA    r.oIIKMIANS. 


you  to  get  married.  I  don't  think  I 
could  do  without  you,  my  dear." 

They  were  nearly  the  verv  same  words 
used  by  Brantz  Elliot,  and  produced  a 
dolorous  feeling  in  Nelly. 

"  Well,  I'm  not  going  away  anywhere," 
she  said  ;  lt  and  as  you  are  going  to  stay 
in  the  mountain,  there  will  be  no  trouble 
about  seeing  each  other." 

Gentleman  Joe,  having  reflected  for  a 
moment,  proceeded  to  shake  his  head  and 
reply, 

"  I  don't  know  about  that.  We  shall 
probably  make  up  a  troupe  and  go  about 
the  country  again.  We  were  thinking 
about  that  when  Harry  was  taken  sick; 
and  as  lie  is  nearly  well  now,  there  will 
be  nothing  to  keep  us  here." 

"  Why  don't  you  stay  ? — arc  you  tired 
of  Crow's  Nest  ?  I'm  sure  Mr.  Gary  would 
not  care  if  you  stayed." 

"No,  he  would  not  care — he  says  we 
may.  But  I  am  not  sure  I  like  Crow's 
Nest.  The  mice  go  *  squeak,  squeak !'  all 
night — they  are  talking  in  the  wall,  you 
know — and  then  the  pine-trees,  how  they 
do  whisper !" 

Nelly  looked  at  Gentleman  Joe;  he 
was  evidently  lapsing  into  one  of  the  rev- 
eries, in  which  his  mind  seemed  to  wan- 
der a  little. 

"  I  don't  mind  the  mice,"  he  went  on, 
"though  I  wish  they  would  not  squeak 
in  that  unpleasant  way  at  night,  when  I 
am  lying  awake  listening  to  them.  But 
then  the  pines !  That  is  not  so  agree- 
able. They  say  a  quantity  of  things  to 
me ;  which  is,  perhaps,  natural,  as  we  used 
to  be  well  acquainted.  Then  there  is  the 
water  yonder.  That  talks  to  me,  too, 
and  sometimes  it  laughs ;  or  when  there's 
a  freshet  it  booms  along  so  sullenly  that 
it  seems  to  be  in  a  bad  humor.  I  often 
think  it  wants  to  quarrel." 

"What  a  curious  idea!  You  must 
not  give  way  to  these  fancies,  Gentleman 
Joe." 

"  Bless  you,  my  dear,  I  never  give  way 
to  fancies.  I  am  a  plain  old  fellow,  and 
much  too  matter-of-fact  for  that.  But 
any  one  can  hear  the  water  laughing  and 
the  trees  whispering,  just  as  you  can  easi- 


ly sec  ea-tle>  and  proplr  in   the  lire,  and 
\\  hat  the  clotld-dhadoVVI  arc." 

"The  eloud-shadou>r 

14  Yt  s,  Nelly — the  shadows  that  gallop 
along  the  mountain  in  August,  \\ln-n  the 
white  clouds  are  pih-d  up  like  so  mm-li 
wool,  and  the  wind  is  blowing.  I  low 
they  gallop!  faster  than  a  hawk  can  tly  : 
and  I've  seen  his  shadow  too,  but.  that's 
not  much.  The  other  shadows  an-  wild 
horses  running  In-t'oiv  the  wind;  hut  it 
can't  catch  them.  They  trample  on,  with 
manes  and  tails  flying  back,  and  the  curi- 
ous thing — I  can't  account  for  that — is 
that  they  make  no  noise  at  all  as  they 
pass  you." 

"  Why,  they're  only  shadows,  Gentle- 
man Joe." 

"I  don't  know  that.  They  may  be 
ghosts  for  what  we  know;  there  are  10 
many  ghosts  around  us.  I  believe  the 
mice,  and  the  pines,  and  the  shadows  are 
all  ghosts." 

Nelly  saw  that  Gentleman  Joe  was  fall- 
ing into  one  of  his  fantastic  moods,  and, 
as  she  had  often  done  before,  strove  to 
divert  him  from  them. 

"  Well,  don't  mind  them,"  she  said ; 
"they  won't  do  anybody  any  harm.  If 
nobody  will  keep  them  from  hurting  you, 
Gentleman  Joe,  I  will." 

Thereat  Gentleman  Joe  brightened  up 
and  smiled. 

"You  can  make  them  behave,  Xelly — 
you  are  the  only  one  that  can !"  he  said ; 
"  and,  bless  you,  I  don't  mind  them  in  the 
least.  I  often  say  to  them,  *  I'm  n»t 
afraid  of  you — you  and  I  are  old  friends, 
and  often  played  here  together  1 
but  go  away,  I've  no  time  to  think  about 
you  to-day!'  I  often  tell  them  that. 
Then,  if  they  will  go  on  whisperii 
laughing,  I  say  *  I'm  going  to  sec  Xelly 
now;  she's  waiting  for  me  in  the  moun- 
tain.' And  then  I  tell  them  another 
thing  that  is  the  most  important  thing 
of  all." 

"What  is  that?"  said  Xelly,  kindly, 
humoring  the  old  fellow. 

"  That  you  are  the  image  of  some  one 
it  breaks  old  Gentleman  Joe's  heart  to  re- 
member." 


138 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


As  he  spoke  Frances  Gary  and  Brantz 
Elliot  made  their  appearance  with  the 
basket,  and  Gentleman  Joe  said  no  more. 


XLVII. 

MR.  RUGGLES  REAPPEARS  AT  CROw's  NEST. 

THE  Lefthander  was  obviously  in  a  de- 
pressed mood  of  mind.  What  was  the 
origin  of  this  depression?  Not  the  ill- 
ness of  Harry  Vance,  for  that  scene  at 
Falling  Water  seemed  to  have  lifted  a 
load  from  his  heart,  and  he  was  regaining 
his  strength  day  by  day. 

Was  it  the  report  that  the  revenue- 
officers  were  coming  with  troops  to  look 
after  the  moonshiners?  There  was  such 
a  report  in  the  village.  The  long-suffering 
Government  had  decreed  the  extermina- 
tion of  the  malefactors,  people  said.  The 
department  was  certainly  growing  indig- 
nant, if  any  faith  was  to  be  placed  in  the 
public  journals.  The  Secretary  of  Finance 
was  badgered  by  his  political  opponents. 
These  moonshiners  were  tapping  a  hole 
in  the  national  strong-box,  and  depleting 
the  same  in  an  irregular  and  unauthorized 
manner.  The  moonlight  trade  must  come 
to  an  end :  if  it  did  not  cease  peacefully, 
it  must  be  made  to  cease.  If  the  civil 
officers  were  unable  to  enforce  the  law — 
then  troops.  A  good  troop  of  cavalry, 
with  sabres  and  repeating  carbines,  would 
prove  a  much  better  argument  than  mere 
proclamations. 

Perhaps  the  Lefthander  was  a  little  out 
of  spirits  at  hearing  this.  As  the  moun- 
tain would  be  harried  probably  for  moon- 
shiners, he  might  be  arrested  —  and  so 
miirht  Harry  and  ( Jentleman  Joe.  Then 
what  would  become  of  Mouse? 

But  something  else  troubled  him  ;  the 
fa<-t  was  evident  from  certain  word* 
which  he  muttered  now  and  then.  When- 
ever he  found  himself  d<»ing  s<>,  he  stop- 
ped suddenly  and  looked  round  him.  I  !•• 
had  the  air  of  a  man  who  is  fearful  that 
some  one  has  overheard  him.  In  fact,  a 
gloomy  discussion  seemed  to  be  going  on 
in  the  Lefthander's  breast.  Tin -re  was 
something  to  be  done,  or  not  to  be  done. 


At  such  moments  his  eyebrows  made  the 
straight  black  line  across  his  face,  and 
that  meant  trouble. 

He  was  seated  on  the  fence  at  the  bot- 
tom of  the  hill  at  Crow's  Nest  one  morn- 
ing, smoking  his  pipe  and  reflecting.  All 
at  once  a  shadow  ran  toward  him  ;  he 
raised  his  head — there  was  Mr.  Ruggles. 

He  was  clad  much  more  respectably 
than  on  the  occasion  of  their  first  meeting, 
and  had  a  jaunty  air.  There  was  the 
consciousness  that  his  improved  wardrobe 
had  elevated  him  socially,  which  is  a  val- 
uable hint  to  slovens.  He  had  a  stick  in 
his  hand ;  there  was  no  bundle  on  it,  how- 
ever, he  was  walking  with  it. 

O 

"  The  top  o'  the  mornin'  to  you,"  said 
Mr.  Ruggles,  in  a  friendly  way.  "  I  was 
jest  passin',  and  thought  I'd  drop  in  and 
see  you.  Family  well  ?  I'm  gittin'  along 
— ain't  burnt  no  wheat-stacks  yit !  Hon- 
est work's  the  thing  for  Ruggles,  and  I'm 
right  on  the  money  question." 

"Well,  that's  a  very  good  question  to 
be  right  on,"  said  the  Lefthander,  indif- 
ferently. 

"You  can  bet  your  life  on  it!"  saM 
Mr.  Ruggles,  cheerfully ;  "  and  if  I  can't 
git  more  work  there's  always  one  tiling 
to  do." 

"What's  that?" 

"  Jine  the  moonshiners/' 

"You  mean  the  whiskey  men?"  said 
the  Lefthander,  looking  intently  at  him. 

"Jest  so  —  the  only  trouble  is  the 
thing's  so  risky ;  they  might  ketch  a 
feller  and  take  his  loose  change;  but 
they  wouldn't  git  mine — I  bury  it." 

"  Bury  your  money  ?" 

"  In  a  holler  log,  at  a  place  I  know  in 
the  woods.  That's  to  keep  it  out  of  the 
bar-rooms.  I  mostly  spend  every  red  cent 
I  take  along  with  me  on  sich  occasions." 

k>  Well,  that's  not  a  bad  idea,"  said  the 
Lefthander,  indifferently. 

"  No  extra  charge  for  telling  of  it  to  «i 
friend  like  you,  mate.  You  might  have 
some  greenbacks  to  put  away,  too — not 
as  bein'  a  moonshiner,  which  it  is  not  my 
meaning.  Greenbacks  or  papers — I  put 
all  them  things  away,  and  as  the  Scripture 
•Ays,  'Go  thou  and  do  like  unto  it.'  " 


VIRGINIA 

Now,  as  Mouse  had  road  aloud  this 
precept  from  her  IJiblo  in  different  terms, 
the  Lefthander  recognized  the  fact  that 
Mr.  i Juggles  quoted  incorrectly.  He  did 
not  set  him  right,  however,  but  only  said, 

"I  always  carry  what  money  and  pa 
PITS  I  have  about  me."1 

He  uttered  the  words  in  a  matter-of- 
fact  and  indifferent  tone,  but  they  pro- 
duced a  striking  effect.  Mr.  Ruggles 
shot  a  piercing  glance  at  him. 

"  Well,  you're  right,  mate,"  he  said. 
''You  don't  drink,  p'r'aps,  as  I  do ;  or 
maybe  you  do.  Take  a  mouthful  ?" 

Mr.  Ituggles  had  produced  a  black  bot- 
tle, and  smiled  in  a  cordial  manner. 

"You're  welcome!  —  it's  a  good  ar- 
Rfe." 

The  Lefthander  hesitated.  Was  his 
old  fondness  for  drink  unextinguished, 
and  the  temptation  too  great?  It  really 
seemed  so ;  for,  after  looking  quietly  at 
Mr.  Ruggles,  he  took  the  bottle  and  swal- 
lowed a  deep  draught  of  the  -whiskey. 

"  Yon  are  right ;  it's  a  very  good  arti- 
cle indeed,"  he  said. 

"  My  turn  next,"  said  Mr.  Ruggles, 
with  a  cheerful  and  friendly  air;  and  he 
icld  the  bottle  to  his  lips  for  a  protract- 
ed period,  swallowed  repeatedly,  and — 
drank  nothing  at  all. 

He  then  said  he  must  be  going,  and 
solicited  the  Lefthander's  company  for  a 
part  of  the  way.  Finding  this  request 
reasonable,  the  Lefthander  walked  on  at 
his  side,  and  they  entered  the  woods,  and 
were  soon  near  the  steep  banks  of  the 
Falling  Water  above  the  ford.  Here  Mr. 
Ruggles,  professing  himself  weary,  sat 
down  upon  a  ledge  of  rock,  and  the  Left- 
hander took  his  seat  beside  him. 

"Take  a  little  somethin',  mate,"  Mr. 
Ruggles  said,  producing  his  bottle.  The 
Lefthander  responded  with  avidity.  It 
was  a  melancholy  sight  to  see  the  bad 
old  habit  again  returning.  His  tongue 
began  to  grow  thick,  and  he  stammered 
slightly ;  then  Mr.  Ruggles,  after  an  in- 
terval, proposed  another  little  something, 
and  another,  when  the  Lefthander  closed 
his  eyes,  and  leaned  back  against  the 
ledffe  of  rock  behind  him. 


139 

Mr.  Ruggh's,  who  had  rai-.-d  the  hottl.- 
to  his  mouth  repeatedlv,  watched  his 
companion  with  a  perfretly  lobe?  glance. 
The  Lefthander  was  falling  a-leep  under 
the  effect  of  his  potations.  Tln-n«  could 
be  no  doubt  at  all,  at  la*t,  that  he  \\as 
sound  asleep,  and  Mr.  Kuggles  pr,,, 
rapidly  to  search  his  pockets.  They  con- 
tained nothing  but  his  pipe  and  tola.-,-,,, 
and  a  few  bank-notes,  which  the  lionet 
Mr.  liugglcs  replace. 1.  II,-  se.-m.-d  bitter- 
ly disappointed,  and  even  muttered  an 
oath. 

"Curse  the  whole  cursed  affair!'1  IK; 
said,  turning  to  walk  away. 

All  at  once  something  grasped  Mr. 
Ruggles  by  the  collar  of  his  coat.  He 
shrunk  back  with  a  cry.  The  something 
was  the  heavy  hand  of  the  Lefthander. 


XLVIII. 

MR.  RUGGLES   FINDS   HIS    SITUATION  RATH- 
ER   UNPLEASANT. 

"SiT  down,  friend,"  said  the  Lefthand- 
er, who  exhibited  neither  in  face  nor  voice 
any  traces  of  his  recent  potations ;  "  don't 
be  in  a  hurry.  I  want  to  talk  a  little." 

The  astonishment  of  Mr.  Ruggles  was 
overpowering.  His  eyes  were  full  of  ter- 
ror, and  seemed  to  project  from  their 
orbits.  All  the  color  had  faded  out  of 
his  face,  and,  though  his  lips  moved,  his 
tongue  refused  its  office. 

"You  seem  to  be  a  little  dumb,' 
the     Lefthander,    phlegmatic-ally.       "  I'll 
doctor  your  case — nothing  brings  a  man 
to  like  cold  water." 

The  spot  where  they  had  held  their 
conversation  was  on  the  slope  of  a  d«- 
clivity  sinking  to  the  banks  of  the  stream. 
From  this  a  sort  of  shoulder  proj 
terminating  in  a  pile  of  rock  whieh  huni; 
over  the  water.  These  rocks  go  by  the 
name  of  "Lovers'  Leap-,"  and  are  com- 
mon on  the  Shenandoah,  the  Opequon, 
and  other  streams  of  the  Virginia  valley. 
They  are  generally  crowned  with  pines, 
and  paths  lead  to  them,  made  by  wild 
animals,  possibly.  There  was  such  a  path 


140 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


leading  to  this  one,  and  the  Lefthander 
went  down  the  path,  which  was  covered 
with  pine  tassels,  half  leading  and  half 
dragging  Mr.  Ruggles  with  him,  his  hand 
still  grasping  his  coat-collar. 

It  was  not  far  to  the  summit  of  the 
rock,  which  might  have  been  called  with- 
out the  least  exaggeration  by  the  name 
of  precipice,  and  they  soon  reached  it. 
There  was  a  sheer  descent  of  about  fifty 
feet,  and  glancing  at  the  water  foaming 
over  the  rocks  below,  Mr.  Ruggles  per- 
ceptibly shuddered.  In  fact,  it  is  not 
precisely  calculated  to  soothe  the  nervous 
system  to  be  suspended  in  the  grasp  of 
a  Hercules  over  an  abyss.  Mr.  Ruggles 
was  evidently  unnerved,  and  made  wild 
gestures ;  he  had  become  very  pale. 
As  the  Lefthander  continued  to  grasp 
his  throat,  a  gurgling  sound  issued  from 
his  lips. 

"Are  you  going  to  talk?"  his  enemy 
said,  in  his  deep  voice.  "  We  are  losing 
time.  Do  you  mean  to  make  a  clean 
breast  of  it,  or  do  you  mean  to  be  drop- 
ped over  this  rock?" 

The  terror  of  Mr.  Ruggles  was  so  great 
that  he  was  unable  to  speak.  They  were 
on  the  very  brink  of  the  precipice,  and 
he  hung  in  mid-air. 

"Do  you  mean  to  talk,  I  say?"  the 
Lefthander  repeated ;  "  I  am  a  little  tired 
of  this.  What  do  you  mean  to  do?" 

"  I  will — tell  you  everything,"  Mr.  Rug- 
gles managed  to  gasp  out. 

The  Lefthander  looked  at  him  atten- 
tively, and  saw  that  he  meant  what  he 
said.  He  therefore  dragged  him  back, 
and  released  his  hold  on  his  collar. 

"That's  the  very  best  thing  you  can 
do,"  he  said.  "  You  may  as  well  talk  in 
a  straightforward  manner.  I'm  not  in 
the  humor  to  be  trilled  with — it  is  better 
to  tell  you  that.  Y"ii  came  here  to 
make  me  drunk  and  rob  iw: :  I  know  all 
about  you  now.  If  you  look  at  things 
in  tin1  right  way,  you  will  sec  that  I  am 
sparing  your  life.  Who  sent  you?" 

Mr.  Ruggles  drew  a  long  breath  of  re- 
lief. It  was  plain  that  he  realized  what 
an  imminent  peril  he  had  just  escaped. 
Would  the  peril  return  ?  was  the  question 


which  he  probably  asked  himself.  A 
glance  at  the  cold  face  of  the  Lefthander 
was  not  reassuring. 

"  Well,  there's  no  use  trying  to  hide 
anything,  and  I  don't  mean  to  try  it,"  he 
said.  "  I  mean  what  I  say,  and  I'll  tell 
you  everything." 

The  Lefthander  sat  down,  filled  his 
pipe,  and  began  to  smoke. 

"  It  will  be  well  to  remember,  friend, 
that  we  are  by  ourselves  here,"  he  said. 

"  I  understand." 

"  Who  sent  you  ?" 

"  Young  Lascelles,"  said  Mr.  Ruggles. 

"I  thought  so.  Then  you  belong  to 
the  detective  police  ?" 

"  Exactly." 

"  I've  thought  so  for  some  time.  You 
overdid  the  tramp  business.  You  detec- 
tives often  make  that  mistake." 

"  I  rather  think  you're  right." 

"  Well  ?"  said  the  Lefthander,  and  as 
this  was  evidently  a  comprehensive  inter- 
rogatory, Mr.  Ruggles  said, 

"  Mr.  Lascelles  wrote  or  telegraphed  to 
the  New  York  Chief  of  Police  to  send  a 
good  man,  with  a  tramp's  get-up  in  his 
valise,  to  the  station  not  far  from  herer 
where  he  would  be  met  and  receive  in- 
structions—  there  would  be  no  trouble 
about  the  money,  which  would  go  up  to. 
four  figures." 

"  Just  so,"  said  the  Lefthander. 

"  Well,  I  was  sent,  and  found  Mr.  Las- 
celles waiting  when  I  arrived,  and  he  ex- 
plained what  he  wanted." 

The  Lefthander  at  these  words  turned 
his  head  round  slowly,  and  looked  fixedm 
into  the  face  of  Mr.  Ruggles  from  beneath 
his  straight,  shagiry  eyebrows. 

"It  would  be  better  for  you  and  me 
t<>  understand  each  other,"  he  said,  phk-g- 
matii-allv;  "I  have  no  time  to  wa>te  in 
listening  to  a  made-up  story.  What  I 
want  to  know  is  i-vi-ry thing.  I  know  a 
good  deal  already.  You  had  best  los$; 
sight  of  being  a  detective,  and  remember 
that  we  are  by  ourselves  here,  as  I  said, 
and  talking  in  a  friendly  way." 

The  Lefthander  looked  straight  into 
the  eyes  of  Mr.  Ruggles,  and  then,  turning 
his  head  in  the  same  deliberate  fashion, 


VIRGINIA    lUHlKMIANS. 


glanced  toward  the  summit  of  the  rock  a 
Vw  stops  distant. 

"I  understand,"  said  Mr.  Ruggles,  who 
iad  gradually  regained  liis  equanimity; 
a  nod's  as  good  as  a  wink  to  a  Mind 
mrse.'  1  mean  to  tell  you  the  truth. 
?or  that  matter  it's  not  so  hard  —  I 
lon't  like  this  young  Lascelles  with 
iis  high -headed  ways;  he's  a  little  too 
nurh  of  the  swell  for  my  use,  and  I  rath- 

think  if  he  had  been  in  your  place  he'd 
ia\v  dropped  me  over  there." 

"  I  think  he  would,"  said  the  Left- 
lander,  candidly. 

"  I  mean  to  tell  you  the  plain  truth." 

"  It  would  be  better." 

"  I  found  him  waiting  at  the  station, 
md  we  went  off  into  the  woods  and  had 

long   talk.      What  he  wanted  was  to 

t  possession  of  some  papers  he  thought 
roil  had,  and  he  offered  one  thousand  dol- 
ars  for  the  papers — to  run  up  to  half  as 
much  again  if  the  business  was  dangerous." 

The  Lefthander  nodded. 

"There  was  no  more  to  say,  after  I 
icard  where  I  could  find  you.  I  had  my 
;ramp  get-up  with  me,  and  came  and  ask- 
ed you  for  a  night's  lodging;  and  when 
rou  were  asleep  I  searched  your  pockets 
and  the  whole  room  for  the  papers." 

"  I  thought  you  must  have  done  that," 
said  the  Lefthander. 

"  Well,  I  found  no  papers  on  yon,  or 
anywhere  about  —  either  then  or  after- 
ward. I  got  the  shingle  job  to  be  in  the 
neighborhood,  and  was  often  in  the  house 
vhen  you  were  away  ;  but  there  was  noth- 
ng  there,  unless  you  hid  it  where  I  could 
not  find  it." 

"  As  you  say,  there  was  nothing  there. 
After  that  ?" 

''Well,  I  tried  then  to  track  you  up 
after  your  fight  with  the  circus  manager, 
learned  you  had  gone  that  night  to  the 
louse  of  a  Mr.  Grantham,  in  the  town, 
where  you  slept.  This  amounted  to 
nothing;  and  though  I  started  to  go 
md  see  Mr.  Grantham,  and  pump  him,  I 
*ave  up  the  idea  as  not  worth  the  trouble. 
le  could  only  tell  me  what  I  knew — that 
"on  had  slept  there,  and  gone  away  in  the 
norning ;  and  as  to  his  having  your  pa- 


1 11 

for  safe-keeping,  that  was  too  unlike- 
ly to  make  it  worth  my  while  to  impure, 
even  if  I  had  made  up  a  story  to  account 
for  asking  him  the  question." 
The  Lefthander  a-'ain  nodded. 

O 

44  So  you  went  to  Mr.  La-ei -llt-s,  and 
told  him  you  were  thrown  oiT  the  seent  .'" 

"  Vex;  and  was  snubbed  by  the  uvntle- 
man.  lie  made  no  bones  of  telling  me 
that  I  was  a  new  hand  at  the  detective 
business;  and  I  agreed  to  try  \<>\\  again 
with  a  bottle,  thinking  you  mi- 
something." 

"Yes." 

"Or  search  your  pockets  again — you 
might  have  the  papers  on  you.  Hut  you 
didn't  talk  on  business  matters,  and  you 
got  drunk  too  quick." 

Mr.  Ruggles  smiled,  and  evidently  ac- 
cepted the  situation  like  an  old  hand  and 
a  philosopher.  He  was  not  at  all  a  green 
hand  at  his  business,  as  Mr.  Lascelles  sup- 
posed, and  had  only  failed  on  the  present 
occasion  from  the  difficult  material  <-n 
which  he  had  been  obliged  to  work.  He 
had  repeatedly  tried  in  private  interviews 
to  pump  Harry  and  Gentleman  Joe,  but 
they  knew  nothing  whatever  of  the  ex- 
istence of  the  papers — which  for  the  rest 
Mr.  Ruggles  did  not  venture  too  plainly 
to  allude  to,  for  obvious  reasons.  As  to 
Mouse,  he  had  never  been  able  to  see  her 
by  herself,  and  thus  the  Lefthander  was 
the  knotty  obstacle  against  which  he 
had  struck.  All  attempts  to  penetr 
hard  a  rind  had  failed,  and  all  failed  with 
it.  Lastly  came  the  present  unsatisfac- 
tory state  of  things:  he  and  the  Left- 
hander were  together  in  a  most  unpleas- 
ant locality.  But  Mr.  Rnggles.  being  a 
philosopher,  made  the  best  of  things,  and 
uttered  his  harmless  jest. 

The  Lefthander  passed  some  moments 
in  reflection  ;  then  he  said,  slowly, 

"This  is  a  poor  trade  of  yours,  friend. 
I  would  rather  plough.  When  a  man 
takes  up  the  business  of  hunting  other 
men,  and  running  'em  down,  he  grows 
tricky  and  lives  by  lies.  ]Je>ides,  he  gets 
his  neck  twisted  sometimes  —  which  is 
not  a  good  thing  to  get  twisted — ' 
nothing  of  dropping  from  the  tops  of 


142 

rocks !  When  I  brought  you  here  I 
thought  I  would  drop  you  over  there  and 
do  for  you.  I'm  not  a  bad  sort  of  fel- 
low, but  a  man  loses  his  temper  some- 
times. I  thought  I'd  stretch  out  my 
arm  and  strangle  you  when  you  were  feel- 
ing in  my  pockets.  I  could  have  done 
that ;  it  wouldn't  have  been  much.  And 
as  to  dropping  you  over  there — I'm  too 
strong  a  man  for  you  to  trifle  with." 

Here,  by  way  of  illustration,  the  Left- 
hander extended  his  arm  and  caught  Mr. 
Ruggles  by  the  breast,  just  at  the  upper 
button  of  his  waistcoat.  lie  then  rose, 
drew  Mr.  Ruggles  up  with  him,  stiffened 
his  ponderous  arm,  and  lifted  him  into 
the  air. 

It  was  an  impressive  spectacle.  Mr. 
Ruggles,  with  his  legs  and  arms  hanging 
down  and  gesticulating,  his  face  expres- 
sive of  horror,  and  his  voice  issuing  forth 
in  a  gurgle,  was  helpless  in  the  grasp  of 
the  giant. 

"  It  would  be  easy,"  said  the  Lefthand- 
er, looking  toward  the  rock. 

He  set  Mr.  Ruggles  on  his  feet,  and 
pointed  up  the  path. 

"Go  away,"  he  said,  "and  don't  come 
back.  It  will  be  dangerous." 

Mr.  Rugbies  availed  himself  of  this  per- 
mission with  alacrity.  Picking  up  his 
stick,  he  hastened  up  the  path  and  was 
soon  lost  to  view.  After  some  moments 
the  Lefthander  followed  him,  talking  to 
himself  in  a  contemplative  way. 

"  So  he's  after  the  papers :  I  might 
have  known  he  would  be.  And  this  de- 
tective is  sent  for.  Well,  I  don't  drink 
now,  but  it  is  just  as  well  I  did  to-day. 
It's  a  good  thing  to  know  what  cards  yii 
are  playing  against,  ami  tin-  rock  yonder 
made  my  friend  show  his  hand." 

He  then  went  hack  to  Crow's  Nest. 
The  detective  had  disappeared. 


XL1X. 

IN    THE    BOHMERWALD. 

ONE  morning,  a  few  days  after  the  in- 
cident just  related,  the  Lefthander  and 
Mouse  were  alone  together  at  Crow's 


Xest.  It  was  just  after  breakfast,  am 
Gentleman  Joe  had  gone  to  pay  a  visit 
his  dear  Nelly,  and  Harry  had  wander 
away  into  the  pine  thicket  in  rear  of 
house,  to  look  after  some  traps  wii 
which  he  amused  his  convalescence.  Th< 
Lefthander  was  smoking,  and  leaning  foi 
ward  in  a  meditative  attitude,  with  one  of 
his  hands  resting  on  his  knee ;  Mouse 
busily  putting  away  the  tin  cups  ai 
plates  on  a  shelf  in  the  corner.  Havinj 
at  last  arranged  everything  to  her  sati 
faction,  she  came  and  sat  down  by  tl 
Lefthander,  and  opened  a  small  BibleJ 
which  she  took  from  her  pocket,  and  be 
gan  to  read  to  him. 

This  was  her  daily  habit,  and  the  read- 
ing was  one  of  the  Lefthander's  greatest] 
enjoyments.     What  was  the  explanati< 
of  that?     Was  there  lying  latent  in  thi 
rugged  organization  that  religious  senti-l 
ment  which,  denied  often  to  the  scientist,! 
fills  the  heart  of  the  ignorant  and  Imm-l 
ble?     Possibly;  or  the  Lefthander  might 
have  liked  to  hear  the  earnest  voice  ol 
the  child,  and  to  feel  that  her  charactt 
was  taking  shape  under  purifying  inl 
cnces.     He  always  put  out  his  pipe  at 
once  as  a  mark  of  respect,  and  listem 
with   deep  attention,  asking  a   questi< 
now  and  then  as  to  what  Mouse  thought 
a  particular  passage  meant.      Rcceivh 
from  the  child  a  statement  of  her  vie\ 
on  the  subject,  he  generally  nodded  withl 
an  air  of  conviction,  and  said  he  supposed 
that  ivas  what  it  meant.     He  then  con>| 
posed  himself  to  listen  again,  and,  when! 
Mouse  finished  her  reading,  said  "Amen." 
On  this  morning  he  remained  silent  for! 
some  minutes  after  the  child  closed  heril 
book;  then  he  said, 

"After  all,  that  is  the   only  Bible— 
which  is  strange." 

"What    do    you   mean,  poppa?"   .slid 
Mouse. 

"I  mean,  Mignon,  that  there's  not  a 
ditTerent  Bible  for  different  people.  This] 
is  the  only  one — for  lords  and  ladie<  and 
tramps  and  beggars.  And  the  strange 
thing  is  it  suits  every  one  of  them,  wher- 
ever they  are  and  whatever  they  are." 

lie  mused  a  little,  and  added, 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


1  i.; 


"  But  I  wish  ynu  were  one  of  the  ladies, 
not  the  poor  little  one  you  arc." 

"  A  l.i-lv  :  I'm  just  as  good  :i  lady  as 
[  want  to  be,  sir,"  said  M<>usr,  with  a 
rrand  air. 

"  Yes  ;  I  really  believe  you  are — in  your 
•haractcr.  Hut  I  was  thinking  of  the 
•asy  time  the  real  ladies  have.  I  wish 
,*ou  were  one  of  them  for  that  reason — 
aot  such  a  little  chit,  only  the  child  of 
four  poor  mother." 

Did  the  Lefthander  utter  these  words 
accidentally  or  with  intention  ?  The  lat- 
ter seemed  to  be  the  case.  He  glanced 
niickly  at  Mouse  and  then  back  to  the 
ire.  If  his  object  was  to  excite  her  cu- 
•iosity,  and  induce  her  to  question  him, 
lis  ruse  succeeded. 

"  You  never  told  me  anything  about 
nother,  poppa,"  said  the  child.  "You 
ilways  said  I  was  too  young,  and  you'd 
.ell  me  some  day.  Won't  you  tell  me 
low  ?  I'm  old  enough.  Can't  you  tell 
ne,  poppa  ?" 

"  Yes,  Mignon  —  there's  no  sort  of 
rouble  about  tnat.  You  are  right.  You 
ire  growing  up  to  be  a  little  woman  now, 
ind  ought  to  know  about  things.  I  met 
rour  mother  in  the  Bohemian  country — 
'.  belonged  to  a  circus — I  ran  away  from 
ny  father  and  joined  it  when  I  was  a 


"  Ran  away,  poppa  ?" 

"Yes;  I  ought  not  to  have  run  away; 
mt  my  father  was  a  very  stern  man.  He 
vas  a  peasant,  and  very  poor,  and  made 
ne  work  hard  from  daylight  to  dark,  so 

joined  a  circus  that  was  passing,  and 
liever  saw  him  again." 
I   The  Lefthander  spoke  rather  sadly. 

"  My  father  died  soon  afterward,  and  I 
vas  very  heavy  -  hearted,"  he  said.  "  It 
jvould  be  much  better  if  people  avoided 
ioing  what  makes  them  heavy-hearted 
dien  they  think  of  it." 

"  But  if  they  did  not  really  mean  to 
lo  wrong?"  said  charitable  Mouse. 

"I  ought  not  to  have  done  as  I  did. 
|  am  very  sorry.  Well,  I  went  off  with 
|he  circus,  and  grew  up  to  be  a  young 
ban,  and  found  I  was  strong,  and  became 
in  athlete.  At  last  the  company  travel- 


led  into    I'M ilu-mia,  and   I    t    with   v««ur 

mother.      It  was  an  aeeident." 

Mou-c  POM  and  came  to  the  lefthand- 
er, ami,  sitting  in  his  lap,  put  one  arm 
around  his  neck. 

"  \Yhat  do  you  mean  by  sa\ing  it  was 
an  accident,  poppa  f  she  .said. 

"I  will  tell  you  about  it.  Tin  : 
a  performance  at  a  place  called  Prague, 
in  the  Bohemian  country.  I  had  taken 
by  that  time  to  the  trapc/.e  hn-i; 
well  as  lifting,  and  one  night  I  had  a  fall 
and  hurt  myself.  It  laid  me  iij>  for  the 
time,  and  when  the  company  left  Prague; 
I  thought  I  would  have  to  remain  behind  ; 
but  they  put  me  into  one  of  the  wa^ms 
on  a  mattress,  and  we  went  west  toward 
the  Bohmerwald." 

"What  is  that,  poppa?" 

"A  high  mountain  on  the  boundary  of 
Bohemia.  It  was  a  tedious  matter  cross- 
ing it,  and  as  to  myself,  I  did  not  cross  it 
at  all ;  I  was  in  so  much  pain  that  they 
had  to  take  me  out  of  the  wagon  and 
leave  me  at  a  house  we  passed,  where  an 
old  hunter  of  the  mountains  li\« •«!.  Your 
mother  was  his  daughter." 

The  Lefthander  drew  a  long  breath. 

"She  was  very  beautiful,  your  poor 
mother,  Mignon,"  he  went  on,  "and 
nursed  me  till  I  wyas  well  of  my  hurt. 
So  I  came  to  love  her,  and  loved  her 
more  and  more  every  day,  and  she  loved 
me,  and  it  was  not  so  surprising,  there- 
fore, that  she  should  be  willing 
away  with  me  at  last  as  my  wife.  I  \\a> 
a  gay  young  fellow  then,  though  I  am 
often  so  quiet  and  sorrowful  now  —  her 
death  made  me  so.  She  died  in  !«•<>  than 
one  year  after  her  marriage,  but  sin-  left 
me  you.  I  should  have  gone  crazy  with- 
out my  little  Mignon  when  my  other 
Mignon  left  me.  At  first  I  could  n..t 
even  cry ;  I  was  thinking  of  her,  and 
breaking  my  heart  about  her.  day  and 
night.  But  one  day  I  was  h-.ldii. 
in  my  arms,  and  you  put  yours  round  my 
neck — they  were  rosy  little  arms — and 
you  babbled  'Poppa!  poppa!'  and  then 
I  began  to  cry  at  last." 

"Poor,  dear  poppa!"  sobbed  Mouse, 
holding  him  close. 


144 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"  Well,  she  was  dead,  you  see,"  con- 
tinued the  Lefthander,  "  your  poor  little 
mother,  far  off  in  the  Bohemian  coun- 
try, which  you  don't  remember,  for  I 
brought  you  away  with  me  when  you 
were  a  baby.  Your  mother's  name  was 
Mignon,  and  sometimes  I  say  the  name  to 
myself  quietly  :  she  is  gone,  but  then  I 
have  my  small  Mignon — I  couldn't  get 
along  without  her.  What  would  the  big 
oak  do  without  the  bird  that  sings  on  the 
top  branch  ?  It  would  be  a  tiresome  busi- 
ness to  the  tree  not  to  hear  the  bird  sing- 
ing, and  not  much  matter  how  soon  it 
would  be  cut  down." 

"But  the  bird  is  not  going  away," 
Mouse  cried,  clinging  to  him,  and  smiling 
through  her  tears.  "Go  away,  poppa? 
Where  would  I  go,  and  how  could  I  live 
without  you  ?" 

"  The  tree  may  go,  Mignon — I  mean  it 
might  be  cut  down :  something  might 
happen  to  me.  I  was  thinking  of  that 
just  now — I  think  of  it  very  often — and 
that  is  why  I  said  that  I  wished  you  were 
a  lady.  What  I  meant  was  this:  If  you 
were  a  lady  you  would  have  a  family  and 
friends  to  take  care  of  you.  If  I  were  to 
die,  \\  hat  would  become  of  you  ?  That  is 
on  my  mind  all  the  time,  Mignon." 

"Oh,  poppa,  don't  talk  of  dying!  I 
should  die,  too,  if  you  were  to." 

The  Lefthander  shook  his  head  sadly. 

"Young  people  think  that,"  he  said, 
"but  they  are  mistaken.  People  forget 
in  this  world  —  that  comes  after  awhile, 
and  it  is  best.  Or  if  they  don't  exactly 
forget,  they  manage  to  live  on  somehow, 
just  as  a  man  shot  through  the.  body,  and 
as  good  as  done  for,  hangs  on  and  don't 
die  for  years  afterward." 

"lint  you  arc  not  shot  through  the 
body,  poppa,  and  you're  not  to  think  of 
dying,  if  you  please,  or  of  my  being  able 
to  get  alonir  without  you." 

The  Lefthander  drew  tin;  small  head 
down  to  his  broad  chest,  and  smoothed 
the  child's  hair.  "My  good  little  Mi- 
non,"  he  said,  with  the  look  of  troul.l.- 
still  on  his  face;  "I  don't  belie\ 
father  ever  loved  his  child  as  mueh  a-  I 
love  you ;  and  it's  pitiful  to  be  so  poor, 


and  not  be  able  to  make  life  easier  to 
you." 

"  Easier !  Why,  what  do  I  want  more 
than  I  have ?  I  have  you" 

"You  might  have  a  good  deal  more 
if  we  were  not  such  mere  vagabonds!] 
It's  pitiful !  Here  you  are  in  rags,  near- 
ly, a  poor  little  one,  doing  everything. 
How  you  ever  learned  to  read,  even,  I 
can't  understand.  You  learned  yourself 
at  odd  times,  and  read  better  than  I  can. 
Ten  years  old,  and  here  in  this  old  shan- 
ty, without  a  mother  or  sister,  or  almost 
a  bed  to  sleep  on !" 

"You  will  do  for  mother  and  sister, 
and  my  bed  is  as  warm  as  toast." 

Mouse  laughed,  and  tightened  the  small 
arm  around  the  Lefthander's  shoulder. 

"  But  think,"  he  said,  "  if  you  were  a 
lady — you  see  I  come  back  to  that — you 
would  have  ladies  to  associate  with,  and 
servants  to  do  the  work  for  you,  and  easy 
chairs,  and  a  mahogany  bedstead,  with  a 
white  counterpane,  and  no  end  of  pleasant 
things.  You  would  have  silk  dresses,  and 
little  boots  that  button  up  with  bkck 
buttons,  and  a  little  hat  with  a  feather  in 
it,  maybe,  and  .1  carriage  to  ride  in,  and 
life  would  be  easy  for  you." 

Mouse  reflected,  and  did  not  dissent 
from  this.  She  evidently  would  have 
liked  what  the  Lefthander  spoke  of. 

"  That  would  be  pleasant,"  he  said. 

"  Yes,  it  would  be." 

"  And  you'd  enjoy  it  ?" 

"I  think  I  would." 

"I  thought  so,"  said  the  Lefthander, 
sorrowfully. 

"But  not  without  you,  poppa.  Of 
course  it's  natural  to  like  pretty  things, 
and  I  should  certainly  like  it  all  —  but 
how  could  I  get  along  without  you?'1'' 

The  Lefthander's  rugged  face  seemed 
to  melt  at  the  words.  There  was  an  in- 
d«'s.-ril)able  tenderness  in  the  very  manner 
in  which  In-  eaiv— ed  the  child's  hair. 

"You  would  soon  get  used  to  it,"  he 
said. 

"I  don't  think  I  would,"  Mon^e  re- 
plied, shaking  her  head  slightly  ;  "  I  know 
I  would  not.  I  don't  see  how  nice  thirds 
and  easy  living  can  make  us  forget  the 


VIRGINIA    liOHKMlANS. 


L46 


people  we  l<»vr.  I  am  sure  if  I  lived  that 
fine  life,  and  you  were  not  with  in.-,  I 
would  lie  awake  in  the  bod  with  the 
pretty  counterpane  and  think  of  you  and 
cry  —  and  then,  you  know,  that  would 
spoil  all  the  fine  things,  and  the  boots 
with  the  black  buttons  would  pinch  me." 

The  Lefthander  was  overcome  by  the 
mixed  pathos  and  gayety  of  the  child. 
He  held  her  close  to  his  heart,  and  his 
lips  moved  as  if  he  were  praying  for  her. 

"Well,  well,"  he  said,  "you  mustn't 
mind  my  talk,  Million — I'm  a  little  down 
to-day.  It  is  natural  that  a  father  should 
be  thinking  about  what  might  happen  to 
his.  child  if  he  were  to  die.  It  would  be 
better  if  you  were  a  little  lady,  as  I  said 
— but  then  I  would  not  see  you  any 
more ;  and  if  I  were  not  to  see  you  I 
think  I  should  die,  Mignon  !" 

ILis  breast  heaved  and  a  tremor  passed 
through  his  frame. 

"  I  must  go  and  see  about  Harry,"  he 
said,  rising  suddenly  ;  "  he  is  not  well  yet." 

AVas  this  to  conceal  his  emotion  ?  It 
seemed  so ;  Mouse  had  never  seen  him  so 
much  agitated.  lie  took  his  hat  and 
went  out,  turning  his  head  as  if  to  con- 
ceal his  face  from  the  child.  A  few  mo- 
ments afterward  she  saw  him  disappear 
in  the  thicket. 


L. 


MOUSE  8    VISITOR. 

MOUSE  sat  down  after  the  departure  of 
the  Lefthander,  and  fell  into  deep  thought. 
She  was  thinking  of  her  mother.  Her 
vivid  imagination  filled  up  the  picture  of 
the  scenes  in  the  Bohmerwald — her  father 
lying  sick  in  the  home  of  the  old  hunter, 
her  mother  nursing  him,  no  doubt,  their 
love  and  marriage,  and  her  death  in  less 
than  one  year  afterward.  That  was  very, 
very  sad.  She  understood  now  why  her 
father  was  so  quiet  and  sorrowful  often. 
He  had  been  gay  once,  he  said — now  he 
was  no  longer  gay,  and  that  was  natural, 
since  he  had  lost  the  person  he  loved  best 
upon  earth. 

Mouse  sobbed,  and  remained  for  some 
10 


time  quite  absorbed  in  thought-  <>f  her 
poor  mamma;  but  then  that  would  not 
do,  she  relleeted.  Sin-  had  a  shirt  of 
Harry'*  to  mend  ;  so  she  went  a; 
the  shirt  and  her  work  -  basket,  and  sat 
down  t<>  mend  the  garment.  A^  there 
was  no  back  to  her  chair,  she  placed  |,,-r 
feet  on  the  round  in  front,  and  pinning 
the  shirt  to  her  knee  brgan  to 

She  was  thus  engaged  when  she  h<-ard 
a  step  approaching,  and  a  long  shadow 
ran  over  the  porch.  Moii-i-  locked  up 
suddenly.  There  stood  an  elegantly- 
dressed  gentleman,  with  a  riding-whip  in 
his  hand.  He  was  the  same  who  had  ac- 
companied the  United  States  marshal  on 
his  search  for  the  moonshiners  that  night. 
In  fact,  the  visitor  was  no  other  than  Mr. 
Douglas  Lascclles. 

He  stood  looking  at  the  child  and  her 
surroundings  with   apparent  inter 
though   his   face  continued   to  wear   the 
expression    of  coolness  and  nonchalance 
which  was  habitual  with  him. 

"  Good-morning,  miss,"  he  said,  bowing 
carelessly,  for  Mr.  Lascelles  was  too  well- 
bred  ever  to  omit  any  of  the  forms  of 
politeness. 

"  Good-morning,  sir,"  said  Mouse,  who 
had  been  a  little  startled  by  his  appear- 
ance* and  wished  Harry  would  return. 

She  had  risen  quickly,  and,  as  the  visit- 
or now  came  toward  her,  instinctively  re- 
treated a  step. 

"  You  seem  to  be  all  by  yourself,"  said 
Mr.  Lascelles. 

"  Yes,  sir — poppa  and  all  are  &\\ 

"Who  is  your  father?" 

"  His  name  is  Ottendorfer." 

"•And  he  is  absent  this  morning  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

Mr.  Lascelles  slightly  knit  his  brow<, 
apparently  from  a  sentiment  of  disap- 
pointment. His  face,  as  he  stood  looking 
at  her,  evidently  did  not  produce  a  very 
agreeable  impression  upon  Mouse,  who 
lowered  her  eyes.  As  the  shirt  wa 
pinned  to  her  dress,  and  she  held  it  in  her 
hand,  her  skirt  was  raised,  showing  the 
slender  limbs  in  cotton  sto.-kin-.rs;  and 
Mr.  Lascelles,  looking  at  them,  wondered 
a  little  at  the  delicacy  of  the  small  feet, 


146 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


and,  indeed,  at  the  same  trait  in  Mouse's 
features,  framed  in  the  light  hair. 

"  You  are  young  to  be  left  in  such  a 
lonely  place  as  this  by  yourself,"  he  said, 
indifferently  ;  " are  you  never  afraid?" 

"  N-o,  sir,"  responded  Mouse,  with  a 
strong  conviction  that  she  was  not  speak- 
ing the  exact  truth ;  "  that  is — not  when 
nobody  comes — " 

"  Well,  /  have  come— and  you  are  evi- 
dently afraid  of  me,  which  is  absurd." 

This  did  not  seem  to  altogether  reas- 
sure Mouse.  The  face  of  Mr.  Lascelles 
was  plainly  not  at  all  to  her  taste. 

4'  Where  is  your  father — Ottendorfer? 
You  said  he  was  your  father." 

"  lie  has  gone  away,  sir — for  a  little 
while,"  added  Mouse,  by  way  of  indicating 
that  she  was  in  reach  of  assistance ;  "  he 
will  soon  be  back." 

"  Then  I  will  wait — for  a  short  time, 
at  least." 

He  sat  down  on  one  of  the  broken- 
backed  chairs,  in  evident  ill-humor. 

"  What  a  kennel  you  live  in  !"  he  said, 
looking  around  him  with  covert  disgust. 
Mouse  felt  that  it  was  necessary  to  say 
something,  so  she  replied,  in  a  voice  which 
did  not  indicate  either  the  recovery  of 
her  self-possession  or  an  improved  opin- 
ion of  Mr.  Lascelles, 

"  It's  not  very  nice,  sir.  There's  not 
much  furniture ;  but  it's  all  we've  got." 

"  Not  much  furniture :  not  an  oppres- 
sive amount,  and  rather  old-fashioned. 
This  ••hair  is  enough  to  break  one's  back. 
Td  like  to  break  it's  own,  except  that  it 
has  none !" 

Mr.  Lascelles  was  not  in  an  amiable 
state  of  mind,  plainly.  II'1  was  not  gen- 
erally ill-humored;  but  people  will  fret 
sometimes  when  they  have  wound  them- 
selves up  to  go  through  an  interview  of  an 
unpleasant  character,  are  anxious  to  have 
it  over,  and  find  that  it  must  be  deferred. 

As  Mouse,  less  and  less  pleased  with 
her  visitor,  whose  face  exhibited  mingled 
divi.-itisfaetion  and  distaste  for  all  around 
him,  did  not  make  any  reply  to  this  at- 
tack upon  her  furniture,  Mr.  Lascelles, 
glancing  indifferently  at  her  and  cutting 
his  boot  with  his  riding-whip,  said, 


"  Ottendorfer  is  your  father,  you  say.! 
Where  is  your  mother  ?" 

"  She  is  dead,  sir,"  replied  Mouse. 

"One  of  the  circus  women,  probably. 
You  belonged  to  that  company,  too,  I 
member  now.  I  saw  you  dancing  on  the 
rope.  What  was  the  cause  of  your  leav- 
ing the  company? — what  made  your  fa- 
ther drag  you  off  here  to  this  cabin,  when 
your  life  yonder  was  so  easy  ?" 

"  Oh,  it  was  very  hard — not  easy  at  all, 
sir!  I  like  living  here  so  much  better." 

"  Rather  a  queer  taste,"  said  Mr.  Las- 
celles, indifferently.  After  this  careless 
comment  he  stretched  his  handsome  rid- 
ing-boot, and  looked  out  of  the  window. 

"When  will  your  father  be  back.-"  he 
said. 

"  I  hope  he'll  be  back  very  soon." 

The  tone  of  the  words  seemed  to  attract 
Mr.  Lascelles's  attention. 

"Perhaps  your  meaning  is,  miss,  that 
his  return  will  terminate  an  interview 
which  is  not  particularly  pleasant.  Yon 
do  not  seem  precisely  at  your  ease  with 
me." 

Mouse  looked  down,  a  little  confused, 
and  at  a  loss  fey  a  replv. 

"One  would  say  you  were  afraid  of 
me." 

Mouse  did  unquestionably  look  a  little 
fearful,  and  only  murmured  some  vague 
words. 

"  It  is  unnecessary,  and  absurd,  too,  as 
I  said  before.  I  am  not  a  bear,  or  a  Giant 
Blunderbore,  to  devour  children.  You! 
father  maybe;  he  is  certainly  a  Blunder- 
bore  in  appearance  at  least.  Why  did  he 
leave  the  circus  ?" 

"There  was  a  fight  with  —  with  Mr. 
Brownson,"  Mouse  said,  not  having  re- 
gained her  nerves. 

k'  What  was  it  about  f 

"About  me,  sir,  I  think.  I  fell  off  the 
rope,  and  Mr.  Brownson  was  angry." 

"Oh  yes,  when  you  sprained  your  an- 
kle, or  something.  And  you  went  away 
that  night  V 

"Yes,  sir." 

M  Where  did  you  sleep?" 

"  In  the  town — my  foot  hurt  me,  and 
poppa  was  carrying  me." 


YIUCINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


1  17 


Mr.  Lasccllcs  fell  into  reflection.  Af- 
ter awhile  lie  looked  intently  at  the  child, 
and  seemed  to  have  conceived  some  proj- 
ect. This  was  apparent  from  the  sudden 
disappearance  of  his  air  of  indifference. 

"  Well,  miss,"  he  said,  "it  was  fortu- 
nate that  your  father  was  not  arrested. 
Jle  had  assaulted  a  peaceful  person,  and 
left  the  circus  company  without  a  mo- 
ment's warning.  Ill-natured  persons 
might  have  said  that  he  did  so  to  prevent 
being  searched." 

"  Searched,  sir !"  exclaimed  Mouse. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  shock  you,  miss,  but 
people  sometimes  leave  a  place  suddenly 
to  avoid  that.  There  is  such  a  thing  as 
carrying  away  what  is  not  one's  property." 

Mouse  was  so  much  shocked  at  this  im- 
putation that  she  flushed,  and  looked  al- 
most defiantly  at  Mr.  Lascelles. 

"  Poppa  does  not  steal  things !"  she 
said,  with  the  air  of  an  outraged  princess. 

"Not  to  your  knowledge,  doubtless; 
but  that  is  no  proof.  How  could  you 
know  what  he  had  in  his  baggage  ?" 

"  He  had  no  baggage  at  all — nothing 
but  my  old  travelling-bag,"  Mouse  replied, 
so  much  offended  that  she  seemed  to  for- 
get her  uneasiness. 

"  Your  travelling-bag,  eh  ?" 

"And  there  was  nothing  in  it  but  a 
few  clothes  of  mine  and  some  old  papers." 

"  What  old  papers  ?" 

Mr.  Lascelles  asked  the  question  with 
an  abruptness  which  showed  how  much 
the  words  of  Mouse  affected  him.  There 
was  the  indefinable  change,  too,  in  his 
whole  manner  that  is  seen  in  the  fox  or 
deer-hound,  when,  after  circling  around, 
he  at  last  comes  on  the  scent  of  the  game. 

"  Old  papers  —  what  old  papers  2"  he 
said. 

"  I  don't  know  what  they  were,  but 
poppa  had  kept  them  for  a  long  time." 

"  Where  are  they  now  ? — I  mean,  you 
brought  your  bag  with  you  to  this  house, 
I  suppose." 

"No,  sir,  I  lost  it.  Poppa  thinks  it 
must  have  been  dropped,  but  /  think  it 
was  left  at  a  good  man's  house  where  we 
slept  that  night." 

"  What  good  man  ?" 


"  His  name  was  Mr.  ( Irantham,  1  hrard." 

u  Mr.  (Irantham  !— Tars-.n  (Irantham  f 

"That  was  his  name." 

Mr.  Laseelles  l.».vt  a  little  of  the  color  in 
his  face. 

"  Why  have  you  never  gone  ba< 
it?" 

"  Poppa  did  go,  but  the  good  ma:, 
away." 

Mr.  Lascelles  fixed  his  eyes  on  the  floor, 
and  was  quite  silent  for  some  m«: 
His   expression    of   face    was    extl 
gloomy  and  unea-^v. 

"How  do  you'think  you  came  to  leave 
it  there  ?"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice. 

"I  think  it  was  left  on  the  bed  where 
I  slept,"  Mouse  replied. 

"Well,"  Mr.  Lascelles  said,  after  a 
moment,"!  suppose  that  was  all  your 
fancy.  The  good  man,  as  you  call  him, 
would  have  looked  for  you,  to  restore  the 
bag  if  he  had  found  it." 

"  It  was  not  worth  thinking  of,  sir." 

"Why  not?  The  papers  may  have 
been  valuable.  How  did  they  ever  come 
to  be  in  the  bag  ?" 

"  Poppa  put  them  there ;  his  own  old 
trunk  had  a  broken  lock,  but  my  bag  had 
a  very  good  one,  only  I  think  it  was  un- 
locked that  night." 

Mr.  Lascelles  knit  his  brows;  then  he 
grew  suddenly  savage.  Perhaps  the  child 
had  been  drilled  to  tell  the  whole  story. 

"You  are  deceiving  me!"  he  growled. 

"  Oh  no,  I  am  not,  sir." 

"  Where  are  those  papers  ?" 

"I  have  told  you  all  I  know  about 
them,"  said  Mouse,  retreating  before  his 
fiery  eyes. 

Mr.  Lascelles  rose  and  advanced  to- 
ward her,  whereupon  Mouse  hastily  re- 
treated. 

"If  I  thought  you  were  trifling  with 
me—" 

Mr.  Lascelles,  without  intending  to  do 
so — from  the  mere  force  of  habit,  proba- 
bly— raised  his  riding-whip  as  though  he 
meant  to  strike  the  child  with  it.  Thuv- 
upon  a  great  change  suddenly  took  place 
in  Mouse.  She  stopped  and  stood 
with  a  deep  flush  in  her  cheeks,  looking 
straight  at  him.  It  was  really  wonder- 


148 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


ful  to  see  bow  her  whole  expression  had 
changed  in  an  instant. 

"Don't  strike  me!"  she  exclaimed,  her 
voice  trembling,  but  with  a  covert  defi- 
ance in  its  tones.  "  Harry  will  be  here 
soon,  and  he  will  not  let  you  strike  me." 

For  a  moment  they  stood  facing  each 
other.  The  threat,  or  apparent  threat,  to 
inflict  a  degrading  punishment  on  the 
poor  child  seemed  to  have  changed  her 
whole  character  in  an  instant :  she  de- 
fied and  threatened  him. 

"  Strike  you  !  Who  spoke  of  striking 
you  ?"  he  exclaimed,  moodily.  "  Who  is 
the  Harry  you  speak  of  ?" 

"  He  is  one  of  the  family,  and  will  be 
here  soon,"  Mouse  said,  still  defiant. 

Now,  to  meet  "  one  of  the  family," 
other  than  the  Lefthander,  was  not  con- 
templated by  Mr.  Lascelles  when  he  came, 
nor  was  it  now.  There  were  reasons 
prompting  him  to  hold  a  private  inter- 
view with  the  Lefthander.  As  that  gen- 
tleman was  absent  indefinitely,  and  an- 
other member  of  the  family  was  about 
to  make  his  appearance,  Mr.  Lascelles 
seemed  to  abandon  his  project,  for  he 
turned  toward  the  door. 

"  Well,  I  have  no  further  time  to  waste 
on  you  and  your  family,  miss,"  he  said, 
almost  roughly.  "  Your  surroundings 
are  not  very  inviting,  and  your  own 
manners  not  particularly  engaging.  The 
sight  of  my  riding-whip  seems  unpleasant 
to  you  ;  but  if  your  father  used  a  switch 
occasionally  it  might  teach  you  a  little 
better  how  to  behave  yourself." 

With  these  words  Mr.  L:i«M-lI.-s  tapped 
his  boot  with  his  whip,  walked  out  of  the 
house,  and,  going  down  the  hill,  mounted 
his  horse  and  rode  back  toward  Pied- 
mont. 


LI. 

IV    THE    WVK    WOODS. 

MR.  LASCELLES  gained  tin1  (lap  and 
rode  on  in  the  directi.'n  of  Wye,  l,,>t  in 
moody  reflection. 

His  visit  to  Crow's  Ne>t  had  been  tin- 
result  of  a  resolution  which  he  had  come 
to  on  the  preceding  night.  As  Mr.  Rni:- 


|  gles,  to  his  great  disgust,  had  completely 
failed  to  obtain  possession  of  the  coveted 
papers,  and  seemed  unable  to  devise  any 
means  of  attaining  that  object,  Mr.  Las- 
celles had  determined  to  bring  the  whole 
affair  to  a  point  by  a  direct  negotiation 
on  the  subject  with  the  Lefthander.  He 
had  no  reason  to  believe  that  the  Left- 
hander, in  his  depressed  financial  condi- 
tion, would  prove  deaf  to  golden  argu- 
ments. Men  were  always  for  sale,  he  re- 
flected ;  the  only  difference  was  that  some 
cost  more  than  others.  It  was  possible 
that  the  Lefthander  might  cost  a  good 
deal.  He  might  take  an  unmanly  advan- 
tage of  the  state  of  things  and  mulct  him, 
Mr.  Lascelles,  heavily.  But  such  misfort- 
unes must  be  put  up  with.  To  attain 
our  ends  in  this  world  we  must  make 
sacrifices.  Mr.  Lascelles  was  ready  to 
make  them,  and  proposed  to  purchase 
what  he  could  not  otherwise  lay  his  hands 
on,  and  in  order  to  effect  this  had  visit- 
ed Crow's  Nest. 

Not  finding  the  Lefthander  at  home  he 
had  failed  in   his  negotiation ;    but  the 
visit  'had  not  been  by  any  means  thrown 
away.     lie   liau  made  a  very  important 
discovery,  indeed :  the  papers  had  been 
in  the  child's  travelling-bag — this   had 
not  probably  been  dropped,  as  something, 
would  have  been  heard  of  it  in  that  event ;] 
it  was  therefore,  no  doubt  in  possession 
of  Mr.  Grantham.     At  this  thought  Mr. 
Lascelles  slightly  shuddered.      Had  Mr.? 
Grantham  opened  the  bag  and  examined 
tin-  papers?     If  so — but  it  was  improba- 
ble.    As  before,  something  would   have 
been  heard  of  it  in  that  case,  and  nothing 

l  been  heard  of  it.  It  was  just  as 
likely  that  Mr.  Grantham  had  not  exam- 
ined them  :  at  all  events  it  was  neceJ 
>ary  to  prevent  his  doing  so,  if  they  were 
still  in  his  possession. 

IIo\\  could  he  ascertain  the  fact  and 
lay  his  hands  on  the  papers?  It  was  a 
dillienlt  alTair  to  manage.  There  really 
did  seem  to  be  no  means  of  doing  so  in  j 
a  Straightforward  manner.  Why  were 
people  thus  compelled,  Mr.  Lascelles  re- 
flected, to  adopt  "  crooked  "  means .;  lie 
would  have  much  preferred  the  simpler 


VIRGINIA 

rourse,  but  that  was  impossible.  lie  cer- 
tainly could  not  go  to  Mr.  Grantham  and 
>av,  "A  travelling-bag  was  left  with  you, 
containing  papers  which  you  will  be  good 
enough  to  deliver  to  me/'  Explanations 
would  be  asked,  and  he  would  be  obliged 
ite  that  the  papers  were  of  right 
his  property.  Jiut  then  the  explanation 
would  require  an  explanation,  and  that 
second  explanation  Mr.  Lascelles  was  not 
apparently  prepared  to  make. 

On  the  whole,  it  would  be  much  better 
to  quietly  resume  possession  of  his  prop- 
erty without  raising  a  scandal.  There 
would  be  no  moral  transgression  in  so 
doing.  Mere  forms  were  not  of  vital  im- 
portance where  there  was  no  real  viola- 
tion of  the  laws  of  meum  and  tuum. 
Molierc  had  claimed  the  right  to  take  his 
own  wherever  he  found  it,  and  why  should 
not  he  ?  If  by  taking  it  quietly  lie  avoid- 
ed strife  and  contention,  was  it  not  all  the 
better  ? 

The  trouble  was  to  devise  the  means, 
and  he  naturally  thought  of  Mr.  Ruggles. 
At  first  he  hesitated  to  have  recourse  to 
the  assistance  of  that  gentleman,  of  whom 
he  was  growing  a  little  weary.  His  views 
as  to  the  efficiency  of  "detectives"  had 
undergone  a  shock.  The  perusal  of 
modern  novels  had  elevated  the  detec- 
tive police  very  high  in  his  estimation. 
He  was  very  much  surprised  now  to  have 
bis  eyes  opened,  and  to  find  that  they 
were  the  merest  pretenders.  There  might 
be  some  efficient  ones,  but  Mr.  Ruggles 
was  evidently  an  ignoramus  or  a  new 
hand;  else  why  had  he  failed?  It  was 
really  absurd.  The  papers  were  in  exist- 
ence, and  there  was  the  money  ready. 
WThy  were  they  not  forthcoming  ?  The 
result  —  contempt  for  Mr.  Ruggles,  and 
ill-suppressed  hauteur  of  bearing  in  that 
gentleman's  company.  Not  even  the  nar- 
rative of  Mr.  Ruggles's  ruse  with  the  black 
bottle,  and  of  what  followed,  had  moved 
him.  lie  was  evidently  no  match  for  the 
Lefthander,  and  the  struggle  was  over — 
but  he  might  be  for  Mr.  Grantham.  He 
might  suggest  something,  at  least,  and  if 
it  was  found  necessary  to  determine  on 
the  hazardous  proceeding  of — 


Mr.  La-cclles  took   out    1,N   \\at.-h.      It 
was  nearly  half-pa-t  three  in  the  afl< 
F«»ur  o'clock  \\as  the  hour  \\hen  1 
accustomed    to    meet,    Mr.    I! 
there  was  just    time  to   reach  the  , 
voiis.     He  put.  spurs  to  his  h«'r-e,  and  went 
on  at  full  gallop.     This  soon  brought  him 
to  the  Wye  wo. .ds  ami  turning  a  beixl  in 
the  road  he  saw  Mr.  Ruggles  seated  on  a 
root  awaiting  him. 

"I  was  looking  for  you,"  said  M 
relies,  rather  curtly. 

"  Well,  here  I   am,"  returned   M, 
gles,  retaining  his  seat  on  the  root,  of  the 
tree,  and  speaking  in  a  carelett  tone. 

Mr.  Lascelles  was  already  in  a  bad  hu- 
mor, and  by  no  means  relished  his  com- 
panion's tone. 

"You  appear  to  be  rather  indi; 
whether  you  see  me  or  not,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Ruggles  had  been  picking  his  teeth 
with  a  straw.  This  ceremony  he  still 
proceeded  with. 

"Well,  to   tell  you  the  fact,  M 
cclles,  I'm  a  little  tired  of  thi- 
he  said. 

"  Indeed  !"  Mr.  Lascelles  returned,  iron- 
ically. 

Mr.  Ruggles  nodded. 

"  I've  done  all  I  could,  and  I  can't  find 
your  papers.  Are  they  really  to  be 
found  anywhere?  They  have  been  de- 
stroyed, maybe." 

"They    are   not   destroyed,"  said    Mr. 
Lascelles,  knitting  his  brows  but  n 
ing  himself. 

"  Are  you  certain  ?" 

"  Yes.  Perhaps  your  not  finding  them 
is  due  to  another  circumstance." 

"  What  circumstance  is  that  :" 

"That  you  are  a  new  hand  at  your 
business." 

This  observation  evidently  offended  Mr. 
Ruggles  considerably  ;  hi-  -um«-d 

a  sullen  expression. 

"Been  twenty  years  in  the  for 
think  I  know  a  thing  or  two!"  ! 
sponded,  not  without  covert  detia 

"  Xo  one  would  think  so,"  replied  Mr. 
Lascelles,  unable  to  suppress  the  retort. 
"  This  business  is  simple  enough.  I  want 
something  —  a  part  of  my  property — 


150 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


which  another  person  has  in  his  hands. 
I  employ  you  to  get  possession  of  it  and 
you  fail  to  do  so.  I  don't  tell  you  you 
arc  inefficient,  exactly  —  but  I  say  you 
must  be  new  at  your  business." 

"Been  nearly  twenty  years  in  the 
force!"  reiterated  Mr.  Buggies,  with  a 
rather  morose  glance. 

"  Well,  I  have  not,  and  yet  I've  found 
out  more  in  half  an  hour  than  you  have 
done  in  a  month." 

"Found  out  what?" 

The  tone  of  voice  employed  by  Mr. 
Ruggles  was  open  to  the  criticism  of  be- 
ing rather  unceremonious,  and  Mr.  Las- 
celles  lost  his  temper  slightly. 

"  Mr.  Rugbies  !"  he  said. 

"Well,  sir?" 

"  It  would  be  better,  probably,  if  you 
were  a  little  more  friendly — or  polite,  at 
least — in  your  manner  of  speaking.  I 
mention  it  as  a  thing  apt  to  cause  bad 
feeling." 

"  I'm  polite  to  everybody !"  said  Mr. 
Ruggles. 

"  You  are  devilish  short  to  me !"  re- 
plied Mr.  Lascelles,  with  a  dangerous  look. 
"  But  all  this  talk  is  folly.  The  papers 
are  in  the  town,  at  a  Mr.  Grantham's. 
They  were  left  there  in  a  travelling-bag 
containing  a  child's  clothes.  Can  you,  or 
can  you  not,  get  hold  of  them  ?" 

Ills  professional  character  being  thus 
in  question,  Mr.  Ruggles  replied  that  he 
had  no  doubt  he  could  get  hold  of  them. 
"  It's  a  serious  matter,"  he  said,  "  some- 
thing like  burglary  —  it  will  cost  you 
money." 

"  Burglary  !  Who  speaks  of  burglary  ? 
I  might  go  and  demand  my  property,  but 
that  would  cause  talk.  It  is  mine — why 
not  go  and  take  it,  if  it  can  be  found, 
without  making  a  scandal  f 

"  A  scandal  !  Yes,  that's  disagreeable," 
said  Mr.  Ruggles,  looking  significantly  at 
•Mr.  Lascelles. 

"It  would  be  infernally  »li>:i^ivpahlo — 
I  make  no  concealment  on  that  point — 
but  that  is  all.  As  to  the  business,  there 
is  no  wrong  done  anybody ;  it  is  my  pri- 
vate affair.  The  papers  are  of  no  value 
to  any  one  but  myself.  They  are  kept 


from  me  by  that  obstinate  rascal,  who  has 
some  bad  end  in  view.  They  are  proba- 
bly lying  about  somewhere  yonder ;  what 
is  to  prevent  you  from  quietly  picking 
them  up  and  bringing  them  to  me  ?  Your 
check  is  ready." 

This  latter  observation  seemed  to  have 
far  more  effect  upon  Mr.  Ruggles  than 
the  whole  preceding  train  of  argument. 

"Well,  I'll  try,"' he  said.  <rTho  mat- 
ter's simple  enough.  If  they  are  lying 
about  I  can  easily  get  hold  of  them." 

"  Well,  the  sooner  the  better.  I  have 
been  to  the  house  in  the  mountain  and 
had  a  talk,  and  by  this  time  Ottendorfer 
knows  that  I  knoio.  There  is  time  to 
try  to-night," 

Mr.  Lascelles  looked  at  his  watch. 

"You  might  get  there  toward  dark, 
and  that  would  be  better.  If  you  say  so, 
I  will  meet  you  here  at  ten  to-night  to 
hear  what  has  happened." 

Mr.  Ruggles  reflected,  hesitated,  and 
then  nodded. 

"I'll  try  to-night,  then.  My  cape  will 
hide  the  bag  if  I  get  hold  of  it,  and  I 
won't  be  seen  coming  back." 

He  rose  and  buttoned  up  his  coarse 
brown  cape. 

"At  ten,  then,"  said  Mr.  Lascelles. 

"At  ten,"  said  Mr.  Ruggles. 

They  then  parted,  Mr.  Lascelles  riding 
on  toward  Wye. 


LII. 

THE   TRAVELLING-BAG. 

MR.  GRANTIIAM  had  just  finished  his 
early  cup  of  tea,  and  had  returned  to  his 
study,  in  which  his-two  candles  were,  burn- 
ing. The  half -written  MS.  of  his  next 
sermon  lay  upon  the  table,  but,  while  tak- 
ing his  solitary  meal,  he  had  been  think- 
ing of  Ellis,  and  the  impulse  to  write  to 
him  was  uncontrollable. 

Hi1  had  a  i^reat  deal  to  say  to  him,  as 
he  had  not  written  for  nearly  a  week 
Then,  on  that  morning  he  had  stopped  at 
\Vy<-.  on  his  ride  to  visit  his  poor  people, 
and  Mrs.  Lascelles  had  spoken  of  Ellis  in 
a  way  which  warmed  his  heart.  Anna 


VIRGINIA   J'.oIlKMlANS. 


L51 


Gray  had  also  alluded  to  the  young  man, 
asking  when  lie  would  return,  in  a  torn-  of 
voice  which  seemed  to  indicate  a  stronger 
feeling  than  friendship;  and  Mr.  Gran- 
thani  suddenly  began  to  suspect  that 
relations  existed  between  the  young 
people  than  he  had  supposed.  \Vas  this 
really  the  case  •  \Verc  Ellis  and  Anna 
Gray  in. -re  than  friends?  That  demand- 
ed thought.  It  would  be  an  altogether 
excellent  arrangement;  for  the  young 
lady  was  a  most  exemplary  person.  But 
could  it  be  so?  He  would  write  and  ask 
Ellis.  They  had  never  had  any  secrets 
from  each  other. 

So,  turning  his  back  for  the  moment 
on  his  sermon,  and  losing  sight  complete- 
ly of  his  "  History  of  Ritualism,"  which 
had  readied  its  most  denunciatory  chap- 
ter, Mr.  Grantham  took  a  sheet  of  paper, 
and  began,  "  My  beloved  Ellis—" 

As  he  wrote  the  words  a  knock  was 
heard  at  the  outer  door,  and  he  rose  and 
went  out.  At  the  door  stood  a  plainly- 
dressed  man,  with  a  coarse  brown  cape  on 
his  shoulders. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  me,  my  friend  ?" 
said  Mr.  Grantham.  "  Come  in ;  it  is 
growing  cool." 

The  visitor  entered,  and,  by  way  of  ex- 
plaining his  visit,  presented  a  soiled  pa- 
per, which  Mr.  Grantham  took  and  read. 
This  paper  recited  the  fact  that  the  bear- 
er was  a  respectable  resident  in  the  moun- 
tain, who  had  been  "  burnt  out "  some 
days  before,  and  was  an  object  of  charity, 
owing  to  a  large  family  who  were  home- 
less and  destitute  in  consequence  of  their 
misfortune.  Under  these  circumstances 
contributions  in  money  or  provisions 
would  be  thankfully  received. 

Mr.  Grantham's  first  impulse  was  to  put 
his  hand  in  his  pocket.  He  found  the 
least  possible  amount  of  currency  there- 
in ;  but  this  he  at  once  handed  to  the 
unfortunate  man.  It  was  received  with 
thanks,  but  the  visitor  did  not  depart. 

"  Oh  yes,"  said  Mr.  Grantham,  "  I  quite 
lost  sight  of  the  last  part  of  your  paper. 
You  wish  for  provisions,  and  I  am  glad  of 
that.  I  am  poor  in  money,  but  Heaven 
has  blessed  me  with  plenty  of  food." 


lie  went  out  to   obtain  the  pr»\ 
saying  that  he  would  return  in  a  moment, 
thereupon  the  movements  of  the  visitor 
became     rrrt-ntrir.         lie     looked     (jlliekly 

around  him,  saw  a  small  t ravelin 
hidden  away  under  the  old  srrivtary  in 
the  corner,  an d  went  straight  and 
upon  it.  A  quirk  trial  <•!'  the  lock 
cd  him  that  it  \\as  open,  and  he  h:i>tilv 
cxamined  its  content-.  The  animated 
expression  of  his  fare  showed  that  this 
examination  was  thoroughly  satisfactory. 
The  travelling- bag  contained  a  child's 
under -clothing,  and  at  the  bottom  was 
a  package  of  papers.  These  Mr.  Gran- 
tham's eccentric  visitor  just  glanced  at 
and  thrust  back.  He  then  closed  the 
travelling-bag,  and,  concealing  it  under 
his  cape,  returned  toward  the  door,  just 
as  the  footsteps  of  Mr.  Grantham  eame 
along  the  passage  from  the  rear  of  the 
house. 

The  worthy  pastor  carried  in  his  hand 
a  plate  containing  an  ample  supply  of 
bread,  meat,  sugar,  and  coffee.  This  he 
presented  with  a  friendly  smile  to  his  vis- 
itor, who  wrapped  it  in  an  old  newspaper 
and  gratefully  thanked  him.  He  then 
took  his  departure,  and  Mr.  (irantham 
closed  the  front-door  behind  him  and  re- 
turned to  his  study.  It  was  not  until  the 
next  morning  that  he  discovered  a  singu- 
lar fact.  His  eccentric  visitor  had  left 
money  and  bread  and  meat  on  the  bench 
of  the  small  porch.  As  Mr.  Kuggles  af- 
terward said,  in  relating  the  incident,  he 
really  could  not  take  the  artieles  away 
with  him — it  looked  too  mean  to  be  im- 
posing on  a  man  like  that;  he  positively 
could  not  do  it. 

With  swift  and  joyous  steps  Mr. 
gles  hurried  out  of  the  town  in  the  <lir«  - 
tion  of  Wye.     He  was  astounded  at  his 
good  fortune.     He  had  not  e 
secure  his  prize  in  so  simple  and  • 
manner.     It  was  almost  too  good 
true;  but  there  it  was   under  hi- 
held  tightly  beneath  his  left  arm  ;   and  as 
he  went  along,  and  emerged  safely  from 
the  town,  unfollowed,  he  hugged  it  r.ipt- 
urously,  and  a  smile  expanded  upon  his 
features.     Under  the  effect  of  his  rare 


152 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


good  fortune,  Mr.  Ruggles's  whole  soul, 
indeed,  expanded.  His  ill-humor  had  dis- 
appeared, and  he  was  at  peace  with  all  the 
world.  A  part  of  his  recent  sullenness 
had  arisen  from  a  sense  of  humiliation. 
He  had  failed  in  all  his  efforts  hitherto — 
now  he  had  fully  succeeded.  His  happi- 
ness was  unalloyed,  lie  had  nothing  to 
reproach  himself  with,  even  in  connection 
with  the  Lefthander.  Toward  that  gen- 
tleman his  sentiments  had  undergone  a 
great  change  since  their  interview  on  the 
rock  above  the  stream.  Mr.  Ruggles  was 
really  touched  by  having  had  his  life 
spared.  His  new  feeling  of  regard  for 
the  Lefthander  was  perfectly  sincere,  and 
he  had  even  half  resolved  not  to  take  part 
in  any  future  machinations  against  him. 
But  his  present  proceedings  scarcely  in- 
volved that.  The  papers  only  concerned 
Mr.  Lascelles.  Securing  them  was  in  no 
manner  personally  prejudicial  to  the  Left- 
hander. It  was  all  in  the  way  of  business, 
and  he  was  only  carrying  out  his  agreement 
with  Mr.  Lascelles  —  at  least  there  they 
were !  And  Mr.  Ruggles  bestowed  an- 
other hug  upon  them,  breaking  forth  into 
confidential  laughter. 

"It's  a  real  Saratoga  trunk  to  carry 
under  a  man's  arm !"  said  Mr.  Ruggles, 
humorously  ;  "  couldn't  be  handled,  one 
would  say,  by  less  than  four  bag^ag«-- 
sma>hers,  at  the  very  least!  But  I  don't 
mind  the  weight.  A  cool  thousand  dol- 
lars in  gold  never  felt  so  light  before." 

He  reached  the  rendezvous  in  the  Wye 
woods  a  little  before  the  hour  agreed 
upon.  It  was  quite  dark,  and  lie  had  had 
some  difficulty  in  finding  his  way.  lie 
generally  carried  a  dark- lantern  and 
matches  about  him,  but  was  n«ridrntally 
unprovided  with  them  on  this  occasion. 
But  they  were  unnecessary.  A  few  stars 
were  shining,  and  afforded  quite  suilii-'n-nt 
light  for  his  interview  with  Mr.  La>eelle-. 
Mr.  Rngglrs,  therefore,  sat  down  on  hi* 
favorite  root,  and  while  waiting  f«'ll  inti» 
reflection  as  to  the  manner  in  which  he 
would  dispose  of  his  thousand  dollar.-. 
His  thousand  dollars?  His  fifteen  hun- 
dred, at  the  very  least!  He  was  to  have 
that  amount  in  case  his  services  were  at- 


tended with  danger.  And  had  they  not 
been  ?  To  be  suspended  over  a  precipice 
was  rather  dangerous,  one  would  say. 
And  then  the  commission  of  petty  larceny 
— that  also  was  rather  hazardous.  There 
were  such  persons  as  constables,  and  such 
places  as  State-prisons.  Decidedly,  there 
could  be  no  question  about  it,  It  was 
absurd  to  say  that  danger  had  not  been 
an  element  of  the  affair  —  and  danger 
meant  at  least  fifteen  hundred  dollars,  if 
not  two  thousand. 

This  sum  Mr.  Ruggles  contemplated 
with  great  satisfaction.  He  was  not  a 
bad  fellow,  and  had  an  old  mother  whom 
he  cared  a  good  deal  for.  He  meant  to 
give  her  one -half  the  amount,  and  treat 
his  friends  and  himself  with  the  rest. 

He  was  thinking  of  this  when  he  heard 
steps,  and  a  moment  afterward  a  figure 
came  toward  him.  He  rose  quickly  and 
waited.  The  figure  came  nearer.  It  was 
Mr.  Lascelles. 

"  Well !"  he  exclaimed,  ardently. 

"  I've  got  it,"  responded  Mr.  Ruggles 
in  the  same  tone. 

"  Give  it  to  me  !  You  are  lucky  !  I 
take  back  all  I  said  about  you." 

"  Perhaps  you've  got  the  two  thousand 
about  you,  Mr.  Lascelles  ?" 

"  Two  thousand  ?  One  thousand  was 
the  agreement," 

"  Yes,  if  there  was  no  danger.  Now 
there  was  danger  enough,  I  think.  Hang- 
ing in  the  air  a  hundred  feet  above  rocks 
and  water  is  dangerous." 

"It  amounted  to  nothing.  It  was 
only  done  to  frighten  you." 

"  \Vell,  it  did  frighten  me  —  rather," 
said  Mr.  Ruggles,  sullenly;  "and  larceny 
does  too — stealing  your  papers,  I  mean." 

It  was  quite  obvious  that  Mr.  Rugbies 
meant  to  insist  on  his  point,  and  with  a 
suppressed  growl  Mr.  Lascelles  said, 

"  Well,  say  fifteen  hundred." 

"Two  thousand." 

"  No !" 

"  \\Y11,  split  on  eighteen  hundred — 
that's  the  lowest  figure  I  swear  I'll  go  at." 

Mr.  Lascelles  felt  a  strong  desire  to 
strangle  Mr.  Ruggles,  but  controlled  him- 
self. " 


VIK<;iMA    nolIK.MIANS. 


153 


"Well  — let  it  go  at  that!  (live  me 
10  bag.  Arc  you  certain  it  is  all  right  .'" 
lain  of  it — papers  and  all.  Have 
on  got  a  match  ?" 

Mr.  Lascelles  produced  his  match-case, 
nd  illuminated  a  small  wax  cigar  taper. 
[e  then  hazily  took  the  bag,  opened  it, 
ud  saw  that  it  contained  a  child's  under- 
Bhing. 

His  face  glowed,  and,  throating  the  ar- 
cles  aside,  he  plunged  his  hand  into  the 
ottom  of  the  bag  and  drew  out  a  pack- 
go  of  papers,  lie  had  handed  the  taper 
.)  Mr.  Higgles,  who  held  it  between  them, 
nd  the  dim  light  lit  up  the  two  ardent 
ices,  producing  a  decidedly  Rembrandt- 
effect. 

Mr.  Lascelles  opened  the  package  of 
apers,  which  were  in  a  brown  wrapping 
jcured  by  an  ordinary  cotton  string.  It 
ontained  a  number  of  Sunday-school 
•acts.  With  eyes  wide  open  Mr.  Lascelles 
nfolded  a  letter  accompanying  the  pack- 
ge,  and  read  by  the  light  of  the  taper : 

I  "DEAR  MR.  GRANTHAM, — I  send  the 
Bothes  I  promised  you  for  'your  poor,' 
ind  some  tracts.  I  made  the  clothes  up 
myself.  Your  affectionate 

"  FRANCES  GARY." 

I  On  the  next  morning  Mr.  Grantham 
[prepared  to  ride  out  and  visit  his  poor. 
|fo  his  great  surprise  he  missed  his  trav- 
:?lling-bag  with  the  children's  clothes  in 
lit,  which  he  had  placed  beneath  the  sec- 
retary in  his  study ;  strangely  enough  it 
pad  disappeared. 


LIII. 

IN   THE    LIBRARY. 

WHEN  Mr.  Lascelles  returned  to  Wye, 
|ifter  his  interview  with  Mr.  Ruggles,  it 
jwas  not  quite  eleven.  A  light  was  burn- 
j.ng  in  the  library,  which  indicated  that 
ivery  one  had  not  retired. 

As  Mr.  Lascelles  had  left  the  house  by 
the  back-door,  he  now  re-entered  in  the 
jsame  manner,  intending  to  go  to  his  cham- 
ber. Perhaps  it  occurred  to  him  that  his 


might  prove  an  index  of 
matters,  lie  was  \rry  bill.-rly  disippo'mt- 
ed,  and  his  e\piv>M.>ii  WM  Millen.  Tim 
be>t  of  us  are  mortal,  and  cannot,  smile  al- 
\\ays  The  lirst  glimpse  of  the  ••!•  •thing 
and  papers  in  the  travelling  -  bag  had 
brought,  a  thrill  of  triumph  to  tin-  h'-art 
of  Mr.  Lasecllrx.  \Vlicn  he 

il   character  of  tin-  articles  !. 
into  a  rage,  and  used  shocking  rxpr> 
reflecting  personally  on  Mr.  1 1  u -.,".;''•• 
long    conversation    with    that    gentleman 
had  thereupon  ensued,  during  which  Mr. 
Lascelles  gradually  grew  mure  COBB] 
The  sea  was  going  down  after  the  storm 
now,  but  it  was  not  by  any   means  tran- 
quil yet — so  Mr.  Lascelles  thought  he  had 
better  go  to  his  room  quietly. 

Unluckily  he  found  that  he  would  be 
unable  to  do  so.  Just  as  he  was  passing 
under  the  old  cut-glass  lamp,  with  its  red 
octagonal  sides,  in  the  hall,  a  voice  from 
the  library  said, 

"Is  that  you, Douglas?" 

It  was  the  voice  of  the  general,  and  Mr. 
Lascelles  went  at  once  to  the  library,  where 
he  found  his  father  leaning  back  in  his 
easy-chair.  For  a  wonder  he  was  not 
reading  his  newspaper,  but  sun  iking  a 
cigar.  This  was  unusual  with  him.  He 
used  snuff,  like  most  gentlemen  of  the  old 
school,  but  rarely  smoked.  When  he 
did  so  he  resorted  to  a  mild  cigar,  and 
used  it  as  an  aid  to  reflection. 

"Come  in,  Douglas,"  he  said. 

Mr.  Lascelles  did  so,  and  took  hi 
in  an  arm-chair  at  the  corner  of  the  fire- 
place,  facing   his    father.      The    g 
tranquilly   smoked  for   about  a  minute, 
and  then,  moving  his  portly  form  slight- 
ly, crossed  one  leg,  ending  in  a  neat  slip- 
per, over  the  other.      He  had  evidently 
something  to  say,  and  Mr.  :  I  quiet- 

ly waited. 

"Do  you  know  you  are  nearly  thirty- 
five,  Douglas?"  the  genial  >aid. 

"  You  have  a  good  met 

••  A  1'aih.  r  rememh  n  the  ige  of  his 
children.  You  will  be  thirty-live  ««n  the 
twentieth  of  next  month." 

"Yes,  sir,"  said  Mr.  L.  "nder- 

ing  a  little  what  was  coming. 


154 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"  And  I  think  it  is  time  you  were  mar- 
ried, if  you  propose  to  marry." 

Mr.  Lascellcs  smiled  slightly. 

"  I  am  very  well  satisfied  with  my  pres- 
ent life,  sir.  Marriage  is  something  of 
a  lottery,  if  we  are  to  believe  the  trite 
maxim,  and  I  confess  I  should  not  like  to 
draw  a  blank." 

"But  you  have  your  responsibility  as 
the  head  of  the  family  after  my  death, 
Douglas.  You  arc  my  only  son,  and  a 
son  of  yours  should  succeed  you.  Then 
you  have  travelled  and  enjoyed  yourself 
— or  had  the  means  of  doing  so,  as  I 
think  I  could  show  you  by  my  check- 
book, during  your  absence  in  Europe. 
You  spent  a  great  deal  of  money.  I  do 
not  complain  of  it;  on  the  contrary,  it 
vactly  in  accordance  with  my  wishes 
that  you  should  do  so.  A  young  man 
who  keeps  good  company  has  no  taste 
for  bad  company,  and  to  go  into  good 
society  requires  a  certain  expenditure." 

"  That  is  very  true,  sir  :  and  remember 
the  rank  and  character  of  my  father. 
You  were  very  well  known  as  a  states- 
man in  London  and  Paris,  and  I  bore 
your  name." 

This  was  not  displeasing  to  General 
Lascelles.  The  reference  to  ourselves  as 
persons  of  "rank  and  character"  rarely 
i-. 

"  Well,  well,  I  am  glad  you  enjoyed 
yourself.  But  to  come  back  to  the 
point.  It  is  time  you  were  thinking  of 
taking  a  wife.  Unless  you  do  so,  and 
have  a  boy  to  succeed  you,  the  property 
will  go  to  Judge  Warrington  as  the  next 
male  kin,  you  know." 

"To  Judge  Warrington!"  exclaimed 
Mr.  Laseclles. 

"  Certainly." 

"What  i-  to  prevent  you  —  or  me — 
from  leaving  the  property  to  oth* 

"Tin-  ,SW/V  A///»  of  the,  Lasec!lrs  fam- 
ily," said  (General  La«vlles,  tranquilly 
smoking.  "Have  you  forgotten  it  i  \ 
woman  cannot  represent,  the  family.  The 
next  male  kin  takes  the  estate.  Our  an- 
cestor, the  Sieiir  La^celh-s  brought  the 
custom  over  the  ocean  with  him,  and  it 
Las  been  respected  for  nearly  two  centu- 


I  must  respect  it  in  my  turn,  and 
so  must  you." 

"And  leave  the  estate  of  Wye  t< 
Judge  Warrington  ?" 

"The  house  and  a  sufficient  amount  01 
land  to  keep  it  up,  at  least ;  the  res 
would  go  to  my  daughters,  either  by 
will  or  yours,  since  you  succeed  me." 

"Judge  Warrington !" 

"  I  understand  your  feelings,  my  deal 
Douglas,  but  there's  no  help  for  it. 
confess  I  do  not  like  Judge  AYarrington 
or  fancy  his  ever  being  the  master  here 
But  he  may  be.  He  would  be  obliged  t< 
add  Lascelles  to  his  own  name,  but  ther< 
is  little  doubt  that  he  would  do  so." 

"  Very  little." 

Mr.  Lascelles  reflected  for  some  mo 
ments  after  uttering  these  words.  H< 
then  added, 

"I  have  no  objection  to  marrying,  sir; 
but  I  really  have  not  thought  seriously 
of  it.  There  ought  to  be  some  sentiment 
in  an  affair  so  delicate — " 

"  Oh,  certainly  ;  but  then  there  should 
not  be  too  much.  Mere  romantic  feeling 
is  not  necessary." 

Mr.  Lascelles  smiled  slightly. 

"I  heard  of  a  gentleman,"  he  said, 
"who  was  going  to  his  wedding  in  a 
light  carriage,  and  came  to  a  stream  so 
swollen  that  fording  it  was  extremely 
dangerous.  There  was  a  bridge  only 
half  a  mile  distant,  but  he  would  not  go 
back.  He  lashed  his  horses,  and  went 
through  with  the  water  washing  ovetf 
their  backs.  The  gentleman  was  your- 
self, sir." 

u  Well,  well,  well !"  the  general  said, 
with  a  smile. 

"And  when    my  mother  fainted    one 
day,  you  seized   a    glass    which    chanced  ; 
to   have   no   bottom,  and  poured   wattf^ 
through    it   from    a    pitcher,  exclaiming 
'Marie!   Marie!'     You  really  must  have 
•me  of  the  romantic  sentiment  you 
denounce,  sir." 

11  Well,  well,"  said  the  general,  in  ft 
mild  voice,  and  with  an  expression  in  his 
eyes  which  seemed  to  show  that  memory 
had  carried  him  back  to  his  golden  years, 
"  all  that  was  a  long  time  ago.  My 


VIRGINIA 

age  has  been  happy,  and  I  find  no  fault 
ith  real  feeling;  but  do  not  let  it  blind 
•>u  in  selecting  a  wife.  Good  birth  and 
vcetness  of  temper  are  better  than  curls 
id  POS 

"I  fully  agree  with  yon,"  said  Mr.  \.:\<- 
lles.  though  it  was  exceedingly  doubtful 
hether  he  did. 

"Good  blood  is  of  course  essential," 
e  general  said ;  "  as  to  money,  that  is  ex- 
emely  desirable,  but  it  is  not  everything, 
ou  had  better  live  in  comparative  pov- 
ty  with  a  wife  whose  tastes  and  habits 
lit  your  own,  than  in  splendor  with  a 
fTerent  sort  of  person." 

"  But  where  shall  I  find  the  young  lady, 
r?"  said  Mr.  Lascelles,  smiling. 

'There  is  my  goddaughter,  Frances 
ary.  She  is  really  a  little  beauty." 

"Miss  Gary!     Yes  —  she  is  certainly 

"  Such  a  match  would  be  most  accept- 
fcle  to  me.  I  am  extremely  fond  of 
feoloncl  Gary,  and  would  like  to  see  more 
f  him  than  I  now  do." 

"  I  am  afraid  Miss  Gary  is  not  my  style, 
ir — excuse  the  slang  of  the  day.  There's 
o  accounting  for  one's  tastes,  you  know." 

"  I  am  aware  of  that.  Well,  what  do 
[ou  say  to  Miss  Armstrong?" 

The  general  touched  the  ash  on  his 
igar  with  his  little  finger,  knocking  it  off. 
ks  he  did  so  he  glanced  at  Mr.  Lascelles 
j.nd  smiled. 

"Miss  Armstrong?  She  is  very  hand- 
omc." 

"  Very  handsome  indeed,"  said  the 
rencral.  "And  the  Armstrongs  belong  to 
he  best  people,  and  were  once  quite 
vealthy." 

k'  Mrs.  Armstrong  still  lives  in  great 
omfort." 

|  u  Well,  what  do  you  think  of  reqtiest- 
ng  the  pretty  Miss  Juliet  to  become  Mrs. 
Douglas  Lascelles?  If  rumor  is  true — 
'M'l  i-vcn  an  old  fellow  like  myself  hears 
j.hcm  sometimes — you  have  been  consider- 
nir  that  question." 

"  Rumor  has  always  a  great  deal  to  say 
pf  people's  affairs,"  said  Mr.  Lascelles; 
!*  but  we  have  wholly  neglected  another 
.'cry  important  point  in  the  discussion — 


whether  any  one  of  theM  young 
would  he  desirous  of  her, ,miii"  M: 
relies." 

"  That    is    uncertain,  1    &  nln-re 

women  are  concerned  e\er\  tiling 
certain.      I»ut  then   tin  r  •    an-   the   \ 
bilities.     You   an-   in   your  prime,  I 
tleman    in    manners    and    rh:ira«-t<-r,   and 
Wye  is  n  handsome  property." 

"Very  handsome,  ind< 

"I  do  not  mean  that  tin-  sort  "f  prr- 
son  I  wish  you  to  marry  would  he  apt  to 
attach  undue  importance  to  the  property. 
Girls  are  not  so  mercenary  as  thev  arc 
represented  to  be — the  good  ones.  Of 
course  there  arc  plenty  who  are  silly  and 
worldly,  and  would  marry  you  for  your 
acres,  if  you  were  silly  enough  to  permit 
them  to  do  so.  Women  are  cither 
or  bad — the  line  is  drawn  more  distinctly 
than  with  men.  The  good  ones  an-  an- 
gelic ;  as  to  the  other  class,  I  wish  I  could 
never  see  any  more  of  them,  they  de- 
grade their  sex  so,  in  my  estimation. 
Choose  one  of  our  little  beauties  in 
the  Piedmont  neighborhood.  They  are 
charming  girls — and  there  is  nothing  in 
your  character  to  object  to.  Your  great 
merit  is  that  you  have  passed  through  ev- 
ery temptation,  and  have  returned  to  your 
family  without  vices  of  any  description." 

"  I  am  gratified  at  your  good  opinion, 
sir." 

"It  is  doing  you  simple  justice.  I 
hoped,  of  course,  that  in  visiting  Europe 
you  would  avoid  what  was  discreditable 
— but  lonor  observation  has  shown  me 

O 

that  it  is  impossible  to  be  certain  of  any- 
thing in  this  world.     We  cannot 
on  human  nature.     When  it 
it  generally  gives  way,  and  is  apt  to  pux- 
zle  us  more  and  more  as  we  go  on  in  life. 
I  am  not  a  pessimist,  but  I  am  not 
astonished.     People  disappoint    all  your 
theories.     If  you  told  me  that  tb 
Mr.  Grantham   had  robbed  me   of  a   fat 
mutton   last   night,  or   had   broken   into 
a   hen-roost,  and    stolen    th-- 
chickens,  I  should  say  1  did  not  be!. 
but  I  should  not  say  he  did  not.     That  is 
merely  an  illustration — perhaps  an  extrav- 
agant one.     What  I  mean  is  that  human 


156 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


nature  is  a  very  curious  compound.     It  i 
the  unexpected  that  almost  always  hap- 
pens, and  what  people  do  is  often  precise- 
ly what  you  would  never  have  expected 
them  to  do." 

"  True  enough,  sir." 

"Life  and  circumstances  try  men  and 
women.  You  often  find  the  best  of  them 
conducting  themselves  in  a  manner  equal- 
ly astonishing  and  discreditable." 

As  Mr.  Lascelles  inclined  his  head,  by 
way  of  assent  to  these  philosophic  max- 
ims, the  general  proceeded  to  add, 

"  I  am  glad  I  can  say  that  I  have  nev- 
er been  disappointed  in  any  such  way 
in  your  case.  You  have  passed  through 
many  scenes  calculated  to  try  a  young 
man's  morale,  I  am  glad  to  say,  without 
soil  on  your  character." 

Mr.  Lascelles  looked  modest. 

"Your  good  opinion  is  certainly  a 
source  of  the  highest  satisfaction  to  me, 
sir,"  he  said. 

"  You  deserve  it.  I  should  have  been 
equally  candid  in  expressing  my  dissatis- 
faction. It  is  due  to  you  to  say  that 
your  career  in  Europe  was  highly  honor- 
able ;  and  you  have  returned  home  to 
pursue  the  occupations  of  a  country  gen- 
tleman without  a  regret  or  a  remorse. 
To  say  that  of  a  man  of  thirty-five  is  to 
say  that  ho  is  a  respectable  person,  and 
would  make  a  good  husband,  and  I  as- 
sure you  that  intelligent  young  ladies 
consider  these  points  as  much  as  their 
parents." 

Mr.  Lascelles  made  a  movement  of 
modest  and  respectful  assent.  True, 
there  was  something  in  the  expression 
of  his  eyes  which  it  was  rather  difficult 
to  understand,  but  then  his  face  was  gen- 
erally inscrutable. 

"I  will  give  the  whole  subject  mature 
reflection,  sir,"  he  said.  "  I  need  not  >av 
that  the  expression  of  your  wishes  has 
always  great  weight  with  me." 

"That  is  gratifying.  There  really  need 
be  no  trouble  about  it.  No  neighborhood 
in  Virginia  has  more  charming  young 
persons  than  our  little  Piedmont  circle. 
Marry  at  home,  where  you  arc  certain 
whom  you  marry — that  is  the  important 


is  point;  for,  let  me  repeat,  it  is  essenti* 
that  a  gentleman  should  not  go  out  o 
his  own  sphere,  or  marry  a  person  h 
knows  nothing  about.  If  he  docs,  th- 
chances  are  that  he  will  marry  an  advenl 
urcss." 

"  You  are  right,  sir." 

"You  had  much  better  put  your  Lain 
in  the  fire  than  offer  it  to  such  a  pcrsor 
But  I  think  I  need  not  caution  yon  o; 
that  point.     You  are  not  an  inflammabl 
boy,  to  be  caught  by  the  stereotyped  wile 
of  such  creatures.      Look   in   your  ow 
sphere  of  society,  my  dear  Douglas,  fo 
the  future  Mrs.  Lascelles;  and  now,  as 
have   preached   long   enough,  I  think 
will  retire." 

AVhcn  Mr.  Lascelles  reached  his  chain 
ber  he  put  on  his  dressing-gown,  and  fe 
into  a  fit  of  musing;    he  was  probablt 
thinking  of  the  conversation  with  his  fa 
ther,  as  an  ironical  expression  slowly  stol 
over  his  face.     After  awhile  he  got 
and  unlocked  a  drawer  in  his  table.    Fron 
this  he  took  a  small  oval  case,  covered 
with  blue  velvet,  and,  touching  a  spring, 
opened  it.     The  case  contained  a  colored 
photograph  of  Miss  Bassick,  very  fir.ch 
executed.    The  young  lady  had  evidently 
dressed  herself  with  great  care  to  have  i 
taken,  though  perhaps  the  term  "dressed* 
is  not  strictly  appropriate.    The  neck  am 
shoulders  were  bare,  and  emerged  from  a 
cloud.     They  were  very  handsome  sbou] 
ders,  and  the  eyes  and  lips  of  the  picture 
had  the  seductive  expression  of  the  origJ 
inal.     The  full  suit  of  hair  was  elaborate- 
ly dressed.     The  portrait  had  been  taken 
a  year  before,  in  one  of  the  Atlantic 
when   Mrs.  Armstrong  was  accompanied^ 
by    Miss    Bassick    in    the    character    of! 
lady's   maid  and  general  travcllin-. 
vcnience. 

Mr.  Lascelles  sat  down  again  and  look-; 
cd  at  the  picture,  which  seemed  to  loofl 
back  at  him.    The  seductive  cye>  brougfl 
a  slight  color  to  his  face — it  might  have] 
been  called  a  sudden  glow.     It  was  quite! 
an  unusual  expression  with  the  cool   Mr. 
Douglas   Lascelles.     Something  waa    the 
matter  with  him;  and  if  there  had  been 
any  doubt  of  that,  what  followed  would 


VIRGINIA   r.olII-MIANS. 


157 


iave  demonstrated   it.     lit-  pivs.-ed  the 
>ieture  to  his  lips. 

"The  little  devil  !  slu»  has  made  a  com- 
t'ool   of  me!"  lie   muttered;   "hut 
'11  soon  be  her  master." 

This    confidential   remark    <>f   Mr.   I.a- 
:clles    is    easily  explained.      He    was    eii- 
:  to  be  married  t<»  Mi>s  1  fossick. 


LIV. 

THE    MORNING    PAPER. 

MR.  LASCELLES  made  his  appearance 
t  the  breakfast-table  with  such  an  air  of 
lonchalance  that  it  was  obvious  he  had 
lot  a  care  in  the  world.  As  he  was  un- 
lorgoing  at  the  moment,  as  will  soon  be 
teen,  a  very  considerable  amount  of  anxi- 
ity  and  suspense,  this  self-control  wras  all 
he  more  creditable  ;  and  it  is  only  justice 
o  Mr.  Lascelles  to  say  that  his  coolness 
md  force  of  character  were  remarkable. 
.Ie  sauntered  in  and  took  his  seat  with 
in  easy  and  cheerful  air,  and  the  pleasant 
amily  breakfast  proceeded  on  its  way. 

Anna  Gray,  who  relieved  her  aunt  of 
nuch  of  the  house-keeping,  sat  behind  the 
ray,  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  Mrs. 
jascelles  at  the  side  next  to  the  fire.     At 
,he  bottom  of  the  table  the  general  was, 
is  usual,  sipping  his  coffee  and  reading 
lis  newspaper,  with  his  old  body-servant, 
frames,  standing  motionless  with  his  silver 
•raiter  behind  him.    This  old  body-servant 
ILvas  quite  a  character.     He  and  General 
*  Laseelles,  in  their  callow  youth,  had  aided 
fund  abetted  each  other  in  robbing  birds' - 
Ijiests,  and  other  objectionable  proceedings; 
liind  when  the  future  head  of  the  house  of 
!es   became    a  young   man,  it  was 
I  lames  who  groomed  his  riding-horse,  and 
I  (waited   upon   him   as  his   body -servant. 
.jNVheii   young   legislator  Lascelles  repre- 
sented  his  county   at  Richmond,  James 
Invent    with    him,  and    afterward   accom- 
panied his  master  to  Washington,  when 
Jibe  became  a  member  of  Congress.     All 
[Ithis  had  elevated  the  views  of  James,  and 
I 'impressed    him   greatly.      lie   was   very 
jbroud  of  "  the  family,''  and  looked  down 


with  unspeakable  sc,>ni  «>n  "  poor  white 
people."  His  other  names  f,,|-  them  \\nv 
"common  man"  and  "tra-h."  A>  to  in- 
stituting any  comparison  between  such 
persons  and  the  I.a^-elles  family,  he 
would  have  regarded  the  idea  U  an  cvi- 
dencc  of  lunacy.  He  never  di- 
the  subject,  if  any  one  seemed  <1; 
to  introduce  it.  He  simply  nodded  in  a 
lordly  way,  as  tin-  proud  I>nke  <-f  S-.mer- 
set  might  have  done  if  a  parvenu  had 
compared  their  respeetive  pedi;_rr<-e>.,  and 
a  goturc  of  the  hand  ind'n-ated  his  dcsiro 
to  drop  the  subject. 

James  had  never  for  a  single  instant 
thought  of  leaving  his  master  during  <>r 
after  the  war.  Emancipation  Proclama- 
tions were  plainly  only  so  much  waste 
paper  in  his  eyes.  Then-  were  certain 
new-comers  in  the  county,  who  ivmmi- 
strated  with  him  upon  this  unmanly  sub- 
servience. Was  he  not  equal  to  his  mas- 
ter now?  lie  was  a  free  American  citi- 
zen, and  just  as  good  as  General  La-celles, 
and  if  he  had  a  proper  respect  for  him-elf 
he  would  vote  the  Republican  ticket — and 
perhaps  he  wouldn't  mind  taking  a  drink  ? 
But  James  was  obdurate.  He  was  much 
obliged,  but  knew  his  own  business,  and 
did  not  want  any  advice.  His  political 
sentiments  coincided  with  those  of  Gen- 
eral Laseelles.  He  seldom  drank — when 
he  did,  his  master  always  had  a  plenty, 
and  of  the  best. 

The  strangest  part  of  all  was  that  James 
would  receive  no  wages — which  was  his 
supreme  protest  against  the  new  order  of 
things.  He  had  never  wanted  for  m<>ney, 
he  said,  in  past  times,  when  his  y«»ung 
master  had  any,  and  did  not  mean  now, 
when  his  old  master  was  often  piv^ed.  to 
take  anything  from  him.  If  ; 
money  were  made  him  he  would  take 

them,  of  course  —  it  wa-  the  pla. f  a 

servant  to  accept  presents  from  a  irentle- 
man.     There  was  no  chan^'  in  him:   he 
and  his   mast(  r  maintained   their   f-rm.-r 
positions:  General  Ln- 
eral  La-celles,  and  old  James  remaii, 
James.     The  one  sat  at  the  table,  and  the 
other  stood  behind  him.     The  one  hand- 
ed the  decanter  on  his  silver  waiter,  and 


158 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


the  other  sipped  the  wine.  One  brushed 
the  other's  clothes,  and  the  other  wore 
them.  Both  heads  were  gray  now,  but 
the  feeling  toward  each  other  under  the 
gray  hairs  was  the  same  as  when  they 
went  bird-nesting  together  half  a  century 
before. 

The  breakfast-room  at  Wye  was  a  very 
pleasant  apartment  in  rear  of  the  library  : 
it  was  papered  in  fawn  color,  with  bronze 
figures,  and  comfortably  carpeted,  and  on 
the  old-fashioned  brass  andirons  blazed 
a  pile  of  hickory  logs.  The  table-service 
was  of  blue  India  china  and  the  old  fam- 
ily silver.  On  the  hearth  a  tea-kettle  was 
simmering  cheerfully.  It  was  a  scene  of 
domestic  peace  and  happiness,  and  the 
faces  of  the  little  group  were  as  cheerful 
as  their  surroundings.  Mrs.  Lascelles,  in 
her  black  bombazine  and  frilled  cap,  was 
talking  with  Anna  Gray,  whose  appear- 
ance was  remarkable  for  its  neatness  and 
absence  of  pretension.  This  was  her  ap- 
pearance uniformly,  for  never  was  there  a 
person  more  delightfully  neat  and  lady- 
like. It  was  impossible  to  associate  her 
with  the  idea  of  undress ;  and  to  have 
seen  her  hair  in  disorder,  or  the  little 
white  collar  around  her  neck  in  the  least 
degree  soiled,  would  have  filled  her  friends 
with  apprehensions  that  something  had 
happened. 

The  general  was  reading  his  newspaper, 
and  interrupted  himself  in  this  perform- 
ance to  say  good-morning  to  his  son,  as 
he  came  in  and  took  his  seat. 

"  I  am  afraid  there  is  going  to  be  trou- 
ble for  our  friends  in  the  mountain,"  said 
the  general,  addressing  his  observation  to 
no  one  in  partimlar. 

Mrs.  Lascelles  looked  at  him  with  her 
placid  smile,  and  said, 

"  What  did  you  say,  my  dear  .'" 

This  old  couple  thus  addressed  each 
other,  and  the  words  seemed  really  to  ex- 
press their  feeling. 

"  I  mean  for  the  '  moonshine '  people.  I 
see  that  troops  are  to  be  sent  to  arrest 
them." 

"  It  is  a  great  pity  that  these  poor  peo- 
ple will  continue  their  unlawful  business, 
said  the  lady. 


"  Yes,  my  dear ;  a  great  pity.  I  havi 
repeatedly  advised  them  to  discontinue 
it." 

"It  is  sad  to  think  what  the  conse 
quences  may  be  to  them,  and  then  mat 
ing  whiskey  is  so  sinful,"  said  Mrs.  Las 
celles,  who  was  a  strong  advocate  of  teia 
perance ;  "  it  would  be  so  much  better  i\ 
no  more  was  ever  made." 

"  Well,  perhaps  you  are  right,  my  dear 
but  that  is  not  what  the  revenue  official! 
wish.  Of  course  the  business  is  illegal 
but  after  all  there  is  no  real  harm  done 
They  arc  poor  people,  and  must  live,  un 
less  you  reply  to  that  argument  in  the 
words  of  the  French  wit,  '  I  do  not  see 
the  necessity.' " 

The  general  smiled,  but  the  lady  shool 
her  head,  as  unconvinced. 

"  I  saw  a  picture  the  other  day,"  she 
said,  "  of  a  fox  holding  a  hen  in  hi 
mouth,  and  under  it,  'An  honest  fox  inus 
live.' " 

"  Well,  my  dear,  the  moonshiners  ar 
not  that  bad,  I  hope.  I  must  really  gc 
and  advise  them — " 

"  Not  to  break  the  laws,  do  you  mean 
my  dear  ?" 

"  To  be  more  prudent,  at  least." 

The  general  smiled  at  his  retort,  <rm< 
raising  his  paper,  said,  "  Here  is  a  delight- 
ful paragraph : 

" '  It  is  reported  that  the  moonshiners 
are  giving  great  trouble  in  Virginia,  es 
pccially  in  the  Blue  Ridge,  near  the  towj 
of  Piedmont,  where  repeated  raids  hav< 
been  made  upon  them,  but  no  arn 
fected.     The  illicit  manufacture  of  wliis- • 
key  has  assumed  frightful  proportions  in  I 
Virginia,  and  is  estimated  at  lifty  million 
gallons  per  annum.     The  whole  of  this- 
is  consumed  in  the  State,  and  a  simple. 
calculation    will    exhibit    the    enormous  i 
quantity  to  each  inhabitant.     The  eighth  I 
(ViiMis    shows    that    Virginia  contains   a 
population   of  twenty-two  millions;   and; 
thus  the  amount  of  spirit  consumed  by! 
e\erv  man,  woman,  and  child  in  the  com-] 
nionwealth    is    nearly    two   hundred  and  j 
lifty  gallons  per  annum  —  that  is  rather 
more  than  three  gallons  a  day.     This  is  | 
really  appalling.     Is  it  to  be  wondered  at 


YIUCIXIA    r.Plll-MlANS. 


at  a  population  sunk  in  such  wretched 
iiould  have  contracted  another  had 
ibit —  that  of  never  paying  the  public 
editors.'     There  is  absolutely  no  future 
r  a  M'ciety  so  abandoned  to  all  sense  «•!' 
lame.      Any  appeal  to  the  sense  of  pro- 
•ietv  of  such  people  is  a  farce.     They 
lonlv  defy  the  government  in  this  moon- 
ine  business,  and  the   only   course   to 
with  them  is  to  resolutely  enforce 
e  laws.     There  is  little  doubt  that  this 
ill   be  done   at  once.     Troops  will  be 
nt  without  delay  to  support  the  revenue 
Electors.    The  Secretary  of  the  Treasury 
~ucd  his  orders,  and  troops  will  be 
nt  to  enforce  them.    If  the  moonshiners 
sist,  they  will  be  dealt  with  as  they  de- 
•xv.' 

"  Poor  people,"  said  the  general,  laugh- 
ig;  "but  why  not  deal  with  the  whole 
pulation  of  the  commonwealth,  and 
ut  the  bayonet  upon  them  ?  They  are 
wretched  set,  it  seems,  and  ought  to  be 
ade  an  example.  But  here  is  something 
ore  agreeable,  which  will  interest  you 
dies : 

"*  Proceedings  at  the  Theological  Sem- 
uiri/, — The  annual  commencement  at 
his  Institution  took  place  on  Thursday 
ist.  The  sermon  was  preached  by  the 
iev.  I  >r.  Andrews,  and  the  candidates 
^ere  then  examined.  The  following 
^Tere  admitted  to  the  order  of  deacons : 
/antham,  and ' — a  number  of  oth- 
rs  " — said  the  general.  "  That  will  please 
•on,  my  dear,  as  Ellis  is  such  a  favorite 
nth  you — " 

"  And  with  my  Cousin  Anna,"  said  Mr. 
)ouglas  Lascelles,  rather  satirically. 

Thereat  Anna  Gray  flushed  up,  and 
aised  her  head  with  the  air  of  an  offend- 
•d  duchess.  There  was  something  in  the 
one  of  voice  of  Mr.  Lascelles  which  seem- 
d  disagreeable  to  her. 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  to   see  him,  if 
hat  is  what  you  mean,"  she  said. 
"  I  have  no  doubt  of  it !" 
Having  made  this    satirical  response, 
tfr.  Lascelles  rose  and  sauntered  out  to 
mjoy  his  cigar,  after  which,  as  the  fore- 
loon  advanced,  he  ordered  his  horse  and 
•ode  toward  Trianon. 


LY. 


MRS.  ARMSTRONG    1  , 1  L8. 

ON  the  same  iimming  Mr<.  Arm-Iron^ 
was  seated  in  her  chamber  biting  ln-r 
nails.  It  was  a  \ery  bright  and  allra«-t- 

•111,  with  a  l..w  ipaewood 

elaborately  carved,  in  one  corner,  a  \«T\ 
elegant  carpet,  an  oval  mirror  Mirmoiint- 
ing  a  toilet-table  uitli  a  \\hite  marble  top, 
and  easy-chairs  were  MVH  in  e\erv  direc- 
tion. On  the  toilet-table  \\riv  tin-  im- 
plements and  accessaries  of  the  lady's  toi- 
let— inlaid  brushes,  cut-glass  lla-k- 
scnces,  hair-oils —  But  ladies  of  middle- 
age,  who  like  to  appear  young,  have  con- 
fidences with  their  toilets,  and  further 
reference  to  the  subject  might  be  indis- 
creet. 

Every  object  in  Mrs.  Armstrong's  bou- 
doir was  indicative  of  the  lady's  tai 
"pretty  things,"  and  even  the  do 
her  wardrobe    were    heavy   mirror 
bright  fire  was  burning,  with   a   highly- 
polished  brass  fender  in  front  of  it,  and 
near  it  stood  a  pair  of  elegant  morocco 
boots  side  by  side,  as  if  their  owner  were 
standing  in  them,  and  had  put  her  foot 
down.       She    had    replaced    them    with 
worked  slippers  at  the  moment,  and  was 
reclining  in  an  arm-chair.     It  wa*  nearly 
noon,  and  the  day  was  beautiful.     Mrs. 
Armstrong's  face  was  the  only  object  in 
the  apartment  that  jarred. 

She  was  biting  her  nails — a  fact  above 
stated — and  when  a  lady  bites  her  nails 
in  that  manner  trouble  is  brewing.  Y  i 
could  see  that  Mrs.  Arm>tr"iig  was  in  a 
very  bad  humor.  In  fact,  she  had  re- 
ceived a  piece  of  intelligence  which  both 
startled  and  enraged  her  in  the  1. 
degree.  She  was  thinking  of  it  at  this 
moment,  and  hence  that  performance  so 
dangerous  to  the  rounded  proportions  of 
her  pink  finger-nails. 

Her  darling   project,  connected    with 
Paris,  seemed  about  to  fail.     It  wai 
doubtful,  indeed,  if  she  would  spend  her 
winters  there  with  Mr.  and  Mix  Douglas 
Lascelles.     She  had  ardently  desired  the 
marriage,  and  not   selfishly  at  all. 
was  thinking  a  great  deal  more  of  Juliet 


100 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


than  of  herself,  for  this  worldly  woman 
loved  her  daughter  with  all  her  heart. 

O 

She  knew  that  Juliet  was  not  much 
pleased  with  life  at  Trianon,  while  fine 
toik-ts,  equipages,  and  excitement  would 
afford  her  enjoyment — and  it  was  to  have 
Juliet  make  her  appearance  in  this  splon- 
did  world  that  her  mother  had  planned 
and  almost  intrigued,  thinking  first  of  her 
Juliet,  and  only  of  her  own  incidental 
pleasure  in  the  second  place. 

It  had  really  seemed  for  some  weeks 
as  if  Mr.  Lascelles  had  become  a  hopeless 
captive.  He  came  to  Trianon  regularly ; 
he  occasionally  remained  late  tete-a-tete  in 
the  drawing-room,  from  which  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong persisted  in  retiring  in  spite  of 
Juliet's  protest.  All  this  appeared  to  in- 
dicate that  Mr.  Lascelles  was  enslaved, 
lie  had  not  stated  the  fact,  but  there 
seemed  to  be  no  doubt  of  it.  Romantic 
devotion,  and  extravagance  and  absurdity 
in  general  were  not  to  be  expected.  He 
was  not  an  impulsive  boy  with  his  heart 
in  his  hand,  begging  somebody  to  take  it. 
He  was  thirty -five,  and  at  that  age  men 
were  apt  to  conduct  themselves  in  a  more 
rational  manner.  They  might  feel  deep- 
ly, but  not  consider  it  necessary  to  act  in 
sucli  a  way  as  to  make  the  world  laugh 
at  them.  Looks  and  tones  of  the  voice 
were  sufficient  to  express  their  sentiments, 
and  no  doubt  Mr.  Lascelles  resorted  to 
these  in  his  interviews  with  Juliet,  if  he 
said  nothing.  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  per- 
suaded that  she  had  occasionally  inter- 
cepted such  glances,  and  was  satisfied  that 
nothing  but  time  was  necessary,  when  all 
at  once  the  atmosphere  began  to  grow 
chill. 

It  was  a  verv  slight  chill  at  first — fnM* 
approach  almost  imperceptibly.  Thing* 
are  not  nipped  in  the  bud  with  cruel 
abruptness:  a  slight  glimmer  of  silver 
on  the  grass  appears,  but  the  sunshine 
dittipatM  it.  in  an  instant.  At  time*  the 
quite  perceptible  chill  in  the  manner  .if 
Mr.  Laseelles  seemed  to  melt  under  the 
sunshine  of  Mi*s  Juliet's  eye-,;  but  tin- 
day  at  last  came  when  it  did  n»t  melt. 
It  was  not  an  obtrusive  and  killing  frost; 
but  it  was  so  plain  that  there  was  no  pos- 


sibility of  mistaking  it.  The  weath 
had  grown  cool,  and  it  was  very  doubtfj 
indeed  if  it  would  ever  again  recover  tl 
lost  caloric. 

AVhat    did  it  mean  ?     Mrs.  Armstrong 
received  intelligence   which   enabled   h* 
to  understand,  or  to  think  that  she  dit 
There  was  a  dusky  maiden  of  the  estaj 
lishment  whose  name,  Lucinda,  had  bee 
abbreviated  to  Cinda.     She  was  maid  ( 
all  work,  and  had  been  at  Trianon  for 
considerable  time,  in  spite  of  Mrs.  Arn; 
strong's   little  peculiarities.     She    "  naj 
ged"  Cinda  very  much,  and  Cinda  wool 
have  taken  wing,  but  remained  from  pin 
fondness   for    Juliet.      This    grew   froi 
slight   circumstances.     Juliet    was   undi 
monstrative  but  exceedingly  amiable,  anl 
so  generous  that  she  bestowed  upon  Cirl 
da  almost  any  article  of  wearing  appanl 
which  she  coveted,  thereby  enabling  th 
maiden  to  produce  a  sensation  at  c-olore 
assemblages.     Then  Juliet  was  not  exadl 
ing,  and    gave   very   little   trouble.      Ail 
Cinda  herself  acknowledged,  *  Miss  Jiiliel 
was   a    angel,  and   never   quarrelled    noj 
nothing  when  she  was  lacing  her  corsidgel 
in  the  morning.'     So  the  entente  cordidm 
was  thoroughly  established  between  miJ 
tress  and  maid ;  and  finding  it  necessaJ 
to  abuse  people,  Cinda  relieved  her  mini 
by  abusing  Miss  Bassick,  who  never  prel 
sentcd    her    with    anything.      This    is  J 
crime  in  the  African  eyes,  and  Miss  Bas| 
sick,  therefore,  came  to  be   cordially  de| 
spised  by  the  disinterested  Cinda.     As  a 
necessary  consequence,  she  resolved  \>-  in- 
jure her  if  it  was  ever  in  her  power  td 
do  so.       v 

The  Cindas,  as  a  class,  arc  dangerous 
foes.  Their  sharp  eyes  sec  a  great  deal,! 
and  their  tongues  are  as  sharp  as  the  eycs^ 
What  they  do  not  see,  they  say  they  have! 
seen  ;  and  such  is  the  vigor  of  their  fancy! 
that  they  make  a  very  good  narra' 
deed,  out  «>f  very  slender  materials,  which 
foretells  a  great  race  of  black  female  nov- 
elist*. 

<'inda,  watching  and  listening,  ha<3 
conceived  suspicions  in  reference  to  the 
proceedings  of  her  dear  enemy,  Miss  Ba*- 
sick.  She  thought  that  on  one  occasion, 


VIllCIMA   BOHEMIANS. 


101 


vhen  Mr.  Lasccllcs  entered  the  hall,  aiul 
s  I'.assick  chanced  to  l>r  passing,  that  a 
light  explosion  resembling  a  salute  had 
'olio  wed  the  encounter.  Then  Cinda 
,vas  tiivd  with  the  noble  ambition  of  dis- 
covering everything,  and  warning  her  dear 
Miss  Juliet.  Was  that  Mr.  L:i«-elles  com- 
see  Miss  Bassiek,  when  lie  made 
>at  he  was  coining  to  see  Miss  Ju- 
iet  ?  It  was  a  shame !  She,  Cinda, 

uld  see  about  that ! — and  she  did  sec 
ibout  it. 

On  the  evening  preceding  this  morning 
jvhen  Mi^.  Armstrong  was  biting  her  nails, 
3inda  had  made  her  appearance  in  the 
adv'-  chamber,  a  little  after  dark,  and, 
ling  with  delight,  had  made  disclos- 
Shc  had  been  to  look  for  mnsh- 

ms,  as  there  might  be  some  yet,  when, 
is  she  was  passing  through  the  woods  in 
iront  of  the  house,  about  dusk,  she  had 
»een  Mr.  Lasccllcs  and  Miss  Bassick 
iissing  each  other.  Mrs.  Armstrong  was 
n  front  of  her  mirror,  with  a  hair-pin  be- 
tween her  teeth,  when  this  announcement 
,vas  made.  She  nearly  bit  the  hair-pin  in 
;wo,  and  sat  down,  gasping  slightly.  Be- 
.ng  interrogated  minutely  and  exhaustive- 
ly, Cinda  persisted.  It  was  Mr.  Lascelles 
ind  Miss  Bassick,  and  they  kissed  each 
->thcr.  They  were  saying  good-bye,  for 
pe  galloped  off  and  Miss  Bassick  walked 
f terward ;  but  it  was  them,  and  she 
thought  she  ought  to  tell  about  it. 

Having  communicated  this  incident 
kith  delighted  giggles  Cinda  retired,  and 
Mrs.  Armstrong  gnawed  her  lips  in  a  fu- 
"iuu<  way.  Could  it  be  possible?  Yes, 
fit  was  possible.  That  interview  in  the 
drawing-room !  She  had  almost  forgot- 
:en  it,  and  ceased  to  attach  the  least  im- 
portance to  it.  But  here  was  something 
more  definite.  Kissing ! — the  vile  young 
Mventuress !  She  was  aiming  to  secure 
!\Ir.  Lascelles  for  herself — to  become  Mrs. 
Douglas  Lascelles  of  Wye.  Again  Mrs. 
[Armstrong  gasped.  It  really  was  too 
nuch.  She  was  too  greatly  overcome  to 
rhave  it  out"  with  Miss  Bassick  that 
light ;  but  on  the  next  morning  they 
i.vould  have  an  interview,  and  come  to  a 
listinct  understanding. 
11 


LYI. 


AN    INTERESTING  :;W. 

HAVIM;  bitten  her  nails  nearly  to  tin: 
quick,  and  scowled  at  the  inotT. •n^i\  «•  lire 
in  a  manner  apparently  indicative  <>f  Mi- 
ter hostility.  Mix.  Armstrong  rung  a  small 
bell  on  a  table  Inside  her,  and  in 
moments  Cinda  answered  it. 

"Tell  Miss  Bassick  1  wi,h  to  M6  her,'1 
the  lady  said. 

"Yes'm,"  Cinda  responded,  retiring 
with  an  effulgence  of  joy  on  her  fan-,  and 
a  few  moments  afterward  Mi-s  Uassick 
came  into  the  room. 

"  Did  you  send  for  me,  ma'am  ?"  said 
the  young  lady,  quietly. 

"  Yes.     Be  good  enough  to  sit  down." 

Miss  Bassick  glanced  at  Mrs.  Arnistn  >ng. 
It  was  easy  to  see  that  the  lady  was  strug- 
gling to  suppress  a  fit  of  anger,  for,  cool 
as  her  voice  was,  her  face  was  flushed 
and  her  eyes  sparkled.  A  storm  was 
plainly  brewing,  and  Miss  Bas-ii-k  won- 
dered what  occasioned  it.  She  braced 
her  nerves  to  meet  it,  and  took  a  chair 
opposite  Mrs.  Armstrong.  Her  air  was 
respectful,  and  her  eyes  modestly  cast 
down. 

"  Miss  Bassick,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
"  when  did  you  meet  Mr.  Douglas  Las- 
celles last,  and  where  ?" 

"Mr.  Lascelles,  ma'am!"  exclaimed  Miss 
Bassick,  with  an  air  of  the  profoundest 
astonishment. 

"Mr.  Lascelles!  I  will  repeat  my 
question  if  necessary.  "When  and  where 
did  your  last  interview  with  Mr.  Douglas 
Lascelles  take  place  ?" 

"I  have  not  had  any  interviews  with 
Mr.  Lascelles,  ma'am,"  said  Ml- 
"I  cannot  think   what  should  ha 
duced  you  to  suppose  such  a  thing." 

"  That  is  a  falsehood !" 

"  Oh,  Mrs.  Armstr 

Miss  Bassick  exhibited  an  intcnti-m  ..f 
sniffing,  but  the  lady  cut  short  that  cere- 
mony. 

"Perhaps  you  will  be  good  enough, 
miss,  to  omit  your  usual  performances  on 
such  occasions,  and  not  attempt  to  impose 
upon  me  by  acting  the  part  of  an  injured 


162 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


person.  I  assure  you  that  you  are  put- 
ting yourself  to  unnecessary  trouble.  It 
is  quite  thrown  away.  I  ask  again,  when 
did  you  see  Mr.  Lascelles  last? — in  the 
woods  after  dusk  yesterday  ?" 

Miss  Bassick  could  not  suppress  a  slight 
movement  of  surprise,  but  she  exclaimed, 

"  In  the  woods,  ma'am — after  dusk — 
with  Mr.  Lascelles !  Who  could  have 
told  you  such  a  thing,  Mrs.  Armstrong  ?" 

"  It  is  quite  immaterial  where  I  pro- 
cured my  information,  miss.  It  is  enough 
that  I  know  of  your  proceedings,  and  that 
you  were  seen." 

"  Seen  after  dusk,  ma'am?1' 

"  Yes,  seen — in  a  gentleman's  company 
— not  talking  to  a  bush !" 

Miss  Bassick  sniffed. 

"  I  can  only  say  it  is  not  true.  I  can't 
think  who  could  have  told  you  such  a 
thing.  I  did  walk  out,  as  I  generally 
do,  in  the  evening,  and  went  beyond  the 
grounds — but  I  met  nobody,  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong; and  even  if  I  had  met  some 
friend  —  or  a  servant  —  and  stopped  a 
moment  to  talk  with  them,  no  one  could 
have  known  them,  as  it  was  nearly  dark." 

"  Your  friend  was  seen,  miss,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Armstrong,  with  slumbering  wrath. 

"  Seen,  ma'am  ?  Why,  I  met  no  one. 
If  some  busybody  was  passing,  and 
thought  they  saw  me  talking  with  a 
gentleman,  they  must  have  taken  a  bush, 
as  you  say,  for  a  man,  in  the  darkness." 

Miss  Bassick  spoke  with  an  accent  of 
truthfulness.  Her  denial  was  certainly 
flat — there  were  no  ambiguities  whatever 
about  it.  She  was  evidently  telling  a 
fearful  fib,  or  was  injured  innocence  in 
person. 

"  That  is  a  fine  story,  mi>> !  A  bush — 
a  bu<h  mistaken  for  a  man  !" 

"I  only  mentioned  it,  as  they  really  arc 
like  the  figures  of  people  sometimes  in 
the  dark,  and  it  was  quite  dark  yesterday 
evening  when  I  was  coming  home  from 
my  walk/1 

Mrs.  Armstrong  was  the  victim  of  sup- 
pressed wrath;  but  even  in  this  condition 
of  mind  Mi>s  IJassick's  reply  had  a  cer- 
tain effect  upon  her ;  not  that  she  re- 
garded the  question  as  in  any  degree  de- 


cided by  any  statement  made  by  the 
young  lady.  Long  experience  had  tolc 
her  that  Miss  Bassick  was  not  exactly  re- 
liable, and  by  no  means  above  little  occa 
sional  wanderings  from  the  straight  path 
of  truth  in  her  statements.  But  there 
were  the  natural  probabilities.  She 
might  be  telling  the  truth.  Bushes  did 
resemble  human  beings  after  dusk,  foi 
she  herself  in  her  walks  had  mistaken 
the  one  for  the  other.  It  was,  therefore, 
possible  —  even  if  barely  possible  —  that 
Cinda's  eyes,  sharpened  by  malice  and  the 
delight  of  discovering  things,  had  seen  a 
little  more  than  there  was  really  to  see — " 
in  a  word,  confused  mankind  with  inani 
mate  objects. 

Having  thus  begun  to  doubt,  and  argue 
with  herself  that  Miss  Bassick  might  no 
possibly  have  met  Mr.  Lascelles  after  all 
Mrs.  Armstrong  naturally  proceeded  to 
reiterate  her  charge. 

"I  know  you  are  telling  me  an  un 
truth ;  I  am  .perfectly  certain  of  it. 
am  aware,  as  you  probably  know,  that 
you  are  not  above  such  things.  You  du 
meet  Mr.  Lascelles  —  last  night,  as  on 
former  occasions !" 

"  On  former  occasions,  ma'am  ?" 

"At  the  same  time  and  place — as  sure- 
ly as  you  were  with  him  that  evening 
when  Juliet  and  myself  returned  from 
Piedmont,  and  found  you  together  in  the 
drawing-room — that  is,  would  have  found 
you  together,  if  you  had  not  started  up 
and  stolen  away  as  we  came  in." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  had  begun   to   speak 
through  her  teeth  slightly.     This  was 
bad  sign — it  signified  exasperation.     Miss 
Hassirk  encountered  it  with  a  look  of  in- 
jmvd  innocence  and  a  prolonged  sniff. 

"I  explained  that,  ma'am;  I  thoughl 
you  understood,"  she  said.  "I  was  .stir- 
ring the  lire  when  Mr.  Lascelles  came, ail 
I  only  stayed  a  little — and — and  talked  a 
little—" 

Mrs.  Armstrong  interrupted  her  in  a 
tone  of  givat  disgust. 

"I  am  tired  of  this  trifling,  miss — you 
aiv  always  ready  to  explain  away  what 
you  cannot  deny.  It  is  one  of  your  very 
charming  traits." 


VIRGINIA 

"I  never  denied  it.     I  didn't  sav  1  was 
not  in  the  drawing-room." 
Mrs.  Armstrong  greeted  this  observation 

with  :i  histrionic  curl  of  the  lip.  She  \\a- 
fond  of  stage  expressions. 

"You  would  have  denied  it,"  ^he  said, 
'if  1  had  not  seen  you  with  my  own 
But  I  do  not  wish  to  discuss  this 
Further.  Did  you  not  meet  Mr.  Lascellcs 
n  the  woods?" 

"No,  ma'am." 

"Is  that  the  truth?'' 

"  Yes  ma'am.  1  can  only  say  that  I 
iave  not  met  Mr.  Lascellcs." 

Nothing  more  ought  surely  to  have1 
been  necessary  beyond  this  distinct  dis- 
lowal.  But  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  in  a 
rage,  and  was  not  at  all  convinced. 

"  Perhaps  you  will  deny  next  that  you 
ire  even  personally  acquainted  with  him," 
he  said,  with  much  sarcasm,  looking  at 
tfiss  Bassick.  The  look  was  unfortunate, 
is  ?Jiss  Bassick  had  never  appeared  so 
landsome,  and  Mrs.  Armstrong  cxclaim- 

"  Y^ou  arc  deceiving  me !  There  is  an 
(understanding  between  you.  Yrou  have 
jhad  secret  meetings.  You  are  acting  a 
jpart — with  your  hateful  cooing,  and  way 
lof  looking  at  gentlemen.  I  wonder  that 
iany  one  calling  herself  a  modest  girl 
(could  look  so.  It  is  sickening !" 

This  was  unpleasant.  Miss  Bassick 
•had  great  self-control,  but  was  growing 
angry  ;  she  took  refuge,  therefore,  in  a 
Isob,  to  conceal  her  sentiments. 

"  There  you  are,  sniffing  again  !  You 
:may  save  yourself  the  trouble,"  said  Mrs. 
Armstrong.  "  I  ask  you  again — what  do 
(you  mean  by  conducting  yourself  in  this 
manner  ?" 

"  YTou  must  have  a  very  poor  opinion 
of  me,  ma'am." 

"I  have — a  very  poor  opinion,  indeed," 
jsaid  the  lady,  with  candor.  "  What  do 
(you  suppose  people  will  think  when  they 
ihear  of  your  goings  on,  and  your  base  in- 
jgratitude  ?  I  took  you  as  a  homeless  or- 
iphan,  and  this  is  the  return  you  make  for 
'all  my  kindness.  You  know  perfectly 
well  that  Mr.  Lascelles  comes  to  see  Ju- 
iliet,  and  in  the  face  of  that  you  presume 


to  thrust  yours,. ]f  Up()n  his  notice.  V  . 
have  meeting*  — in  the  drawing  -  room  — 
in  the  woods;  and  yet  \  on  dm\ 
you  tell  falsehood  upon  falsehood  to  hide 
your  goings  on!  YoU  n-ally  si, 'ken  me, 
you  shameless,  designing  thii. 

It  is  not  pleasant  to  !„•  called  "  shamr- 
tett»"  and  a   "designing  thing."      I 
not  pleasant  to  Mi>s  Kissi.-k.      s! 
an  almost  inv>istil>lc  inclination  to  get  up, 
go  to  Mrs.  Armstrong,  and  slap  her  in  the 

face.  As  she  was  a  high-tempered  voting 
person,  under  all  her  submissive  m. 
she  at  first  thought  she  would  do  so — 
give  the  lady  about  three  good  slaps,  and 
defy  her.  But  Miss  Bassick  was  mu<-h 
too  politic  to  venture  upon  that.  They 
would  necessarily  part  from  each  other 
after  such  a  scene,  and  it  did  not  suit 
Miss  Bassick's  views  to  leave  Trianon 
just  yet.  She  therefore  said,  submis- 
sively, 

"I  am  afraid  we  will  have  to  part, 
ma'am.  Yrou  do  not  like  me,  and  I 
not  to  stay.  I  do  not  know  how  I  will 
explain  my  going;  but  it  will  be  better 
to  go.  I  have  a  1-little  money,  and  will 
f-find  friends  somewhere.  There  i>  a 
room  to  let,  I  see,  at  my  f-friend,  Mi>> 
Gr-Grundy's." 

Miss  Bassick  ceased,  and,  covering  her 
face  with  her  hands,  looked  covertly  at 
Mrs.  Armstrong  between  her  fingers.  If 
this  look  was  one  of  curiosity  and  expec- 
tation it  was  rewarded.  Her  last  words 
had  plainly  made  a  very  strong  impr 
In  fact,  they  were  truly  terrify ii 
was  disagreeable  enough  to  think  of  the 
meetings  which  would  ensue  l» 
Miss  Bassick  and  Mr.  La<celles  if  the 
young  lady  left  Trianon;  of  the  efforts 
she  would  make  to  completely  divert  the 
gentleman's  attentions  from  Juliet ;  but 
far  more  unpleasant,  nay,  frightful,  wa^ 
the  idea  of  Miss  Bassick  seeking  a  re- 
treat for  her  wounded  feelings  with  Mi-* 
Grundy!  That  was  paraly/iin:!  Mrs. 
Armstrong  knew  Miss  Grundy 's  peculiar- 
ities. She  shuddered  at  the  thought  of 
having  herself  and  all  connected  with 
Trianon  photographed  for  Miss  Gnindy's 
entertainment ;  and  seemed  to  see,  in  bod- 


164 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


ily  presence,  the  aforesaid  Miss  Grundy, 
wrapped  in  her  shawl,  and  hurrying  from 
house  to  house  to  hold  confidential  inter- 
views with  other  members  of  the  Grundy 
family.  The  thought  was  really  too  much 
for  her.  No,  Miss  Bassick  should  not  go 
on  any  account.  She  should  stay  at 
Trianon,  where  she  was  under  her  own 
eye.  She  could  watch  her  there  —  and 
she  would !  Having  come  to  this  resolu- 
tion, Mrs.  Armstrong  slowly  grew  calmer. 
The  interview  gradually  toned  down ; 
slight  explanations  ensued  ;  promises  were 
made — in  fact,  when  two  persons  wish 
the  same  thing  it  is  easy  to  come  to  an 
agreement.  It  suited  Miss  Bassick,  for 
private  reasons,  to  remain  at  Trianon  for 
the  present,  and  it  suited  Mrs.  Armstrong 
that  she  should  not  go  away  ;'  so  that  half 
an  hour  afterward  the  interview  termi- 
nated without  an  open  quarrel,  or  any  fur- 
ther mention  of  a  separation. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  cautioned  the  young 
lady  that  she  should  expect  her  in  future 
to  be  extremely  careful  in  her  conduct. 
To  this  Miss  Bassick  readily  assented, 
and,  gliding  from  the  apartment,  went 
quietly  to  her  own  room. 

There  was  a  canary  bird  in  a  cage 
there,  of  which  she  was  very  fond.  She 
proceeded  to  pet  the  bird,  and  call  it  fond 
name*,  and  held  up  her  ivd  lips  for  it  to 
kiss,  whereupon  the  canary  pecked  at 
them  once  or  twice,  and  began  to  sing  for 

pleasure.  Mi-s  IJa»iek  st 1  looking  at 

him  with  delight,  and  then  sat  down  at 
her  table  and  wrote  a  long  letter  to  Mr. 
Lascelles,  describing  her  interview  with 
Mrs.  Armstrong  in  pathetic  terms — to  be 
delivered  on  the  first  opportunity. 

While  engaged  in  writing,  she  occa- 
sionally stopped  t<>  lean  back  in  her 
chair,  thrust  out  her  handsome  fo..t,  and 
yawn  —  after  whirh  she  laughed.  She 
was  a  very  fine-looking  young  female  ani- 
mal— a  little  like  a  hand-Mine  <-at.  There 
was  no  evidence  about  her,  however,  <.f 
the  possession  of  claw*.  She  was  appar- 
ently in  a  very  good  humor,  and  now 
and  then  tossed  a  kiss  to  the  canary, 
laughing,  and  calling  him  pet  names. 
After  these  intermissions  she  proceeded 


with  her  pathetic  epistle,  the  composition 
of  which  appeared  to  amuse  her.  She 
only  made  one  confidential  observation 
aloud  while  writing.  This  was  : 

"I  am  glad  I  did  not  slap  the  old 
thing ;  it  would  have  been  a  great  mis- 
take. I  know  a  much  better  way  to  slap 
her  than  that !" 


LVII. 


JULIET 


AFTER  the  departure  of  Miss  Bassick, 
Mrs.  Armstrong  continued  to  reflect,  in  a 
perturbed  state  of  mind,  on  the  very  un- 
pleasant condition  of  affairs  around  her. 
The  result  of  her  reflection  was  more  and 
more  depressing.  She  did  not  believei 
Miss  Bassick.  There  was  an  understand- 
ing between  herself  and  Mr.  Lascelles; 
and  if  that  were  the  case,  there  was  am 
end  to  all  her  plans  looking  to  a  unioi 
between  her  daughter  and  the  gentleman. 
What  should  she  do  ?  The  question  was 
perplexing,  and  irritating  beyond  words. 
Turn  Miss  Bassick  out  of  the  house  with 
opprobrious  epithets,  and  thus  be  rid  of 
her?  Impossible.  The  hateful  thing 
would  go  straight  to  Miss  Grundy,  with 
whom  she  had  formed  an  intimacy,  and 
regularly  visited  when  she  went  to  l'i.-<l- 
mont;  and,  there,  Mr.  Lascelles  would  be 
able  to  visit  her  without  trouble  or  i-spi- 
onage.  The  idea  of  such  a  state  of  things 
quite  chilled  Mrs.  Armstrong.  Her  vivid 
imagination  painted  Mr.  Laseelle*  ti'tc-a- 
ti-te.  with  the  II.  T.  (hateful  thing)  during 
long  hours  of  the  morning,  and  no  doubt 
many  hours  of  the  night,  discussing  their 
little  arrangements,  and  laughing  at  her- 
self and  Juliet;  and  what  was  equally 
pre-ent  to  her  excited  fancy  was  the  de- 
lighted face  of  Miss  (ii-iindy,  as  she  smiled, 
giggh'd  a  little,  and  poured  into  the  attcn- 
tn  «»f  the  (irundy  family  of  Pied- 
mont every  detail  relating  to  Trianon, 
and  her  own  little  peculiarities,  derived 
from  her  unfortunate  young  friend,  Miss 
Baaaick, 

Sincere  terror  filled  Mrs.  Armstrong  at 


YIIHIIMA   nnlll-MIANS. 


ihe  \.-ry  iilca  of  such  a  tiling,  and  she  at 
•ice  made  up  her  mind  that  nothing 
'should  separate  herself  and  her  young 
friend.  But  how  could  things  continue 
as  they  were?  She  felt  ruefully  that 
Mi-s  Uassick  was  more  than  her  match. 
Looking  back  over  the  years  of  their 
:pcrsonal  association,  she  could  see  that, 
Bumble  as  Miss  Bassirk  was,  she  had  al- 
most always  attained  her  ends.  \Vhat 
dd  not  effect  directly  she  effected 
in  other  ways.  She  never  "asserted  her- 
self/1 much  less  insisted  on  anything,  but 
iquietly  manoeuvred  until  she  accomplish- 
ed her  object.  She  would  certainly  ma- 
jmi'uvro  now,  and  meet  Mr.  Lascelles 
i  somewhere,  in  some  manner.  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong was  really  at  her  wits'  end,  and 
I  the  very  same  longing  possessed  her 
which  had  possessed  the  young  lady: 
I  she  would  have  liked  of  all  things  to 
have  slapped  Miss  Bassick. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  passed  about  an  hour 
in  these  gloomy  reflections;  she  then 
went  down  to  the  drawing-room,  where 
Juliet  was  playing  upon  the  piano.  It 
wa<  a  very  cheerful  scene,  and  the  fire 
blazed  merrily,  as  if  in  defiance  of  the 
(wind  without.  Juliet  wore  a  morning 
wrapper,  and  had  a  little  plain  white 
[collar  around  her  neck.  She  looked  very 
pretty,  indeed,  as  she  turned  to  welcome 
her  mother — the  curves  of  her  figure  and 
the  pose  of  her  fine  head  were  striking. 
Mrs.  Armstrong  came  in,  and  said,  half 
ah.ud, 

"  And  he  prefers  that  creature  to  such 
a  beauty !" 

"What  did  you  say,  mamma?"  Miss 
Juliet  asked,  in  her  tranquil  voice. 

"  Come  here,  my  dear,"  said  her  moth- 
er ;  "  I  have  something  to  tell  you  which 
will,  no  doubt,  surprise  you." 

"  Surprise  me  ?"  said  Miss  Juliet,  quiet- 
ly, rising  from  the  piano  as  she  spoke, 
and  coming  to  the  fireplace. 

"Sit  down,  my  dear,  and  listen  to  me." 

The  voice  was  not  precisely  the  same 
which  had  said  to  Miss  Bassick,  "  Be  good 
enough  to  sit  down,  miss."  The  words 
were  nearly  the  same,  but  were  now  utter- 
ed as  caressingly  as  they  had  before  been 


uttered  briefly  and  harshly.  .lulid  <|iiiet- 
ly  >at  down,  arranging  her  hair  \\ith  (MM 
hand,  and  looking  at  her  mother  some- 
what curiously. 

"  Are  you  aware  that  Mr.  LMOtlli 
not  come  t,,  Triaiii.!.  /''  said 

Mrs.  An nst P. n if. 

Miss  Jnlirt  looked  a  little  surprised. 

*'  I  suppose  his  visits  are  to  the  family 
— to  you  and  my  self,  mamma.' 

"  You  are  mistaken  !" 

"Mistaken?"  said  Juliet,  with  th. 
slight  air  of  surprise. 

"Very  greatly  mistaken  !    Mr.  La 
does  not  come  to  this  house  to  see  either 
you  or  myself ;  he  comes  to  sec  that  de- 
signing creature,  Miss  l>av<i«-k." 

Juliet  did  not  reply  for  some  moi 
She  sat  looking  into  the  fire,  with  a  slight 
color   in  her  cheeks,  and   was  e\ident!y 
very  much  struck  by  her  mother's  state- 
ment. 

"Very    well,  mamma,"    she    said,   at 
length,  in    her  quiet   voice;  "th.v 
little  surprise  to  me.     I  have  seen  noth- 
ing to  induce  me  to  think  so." 

"You  observe  nothing — nothing  what- 
ever!" said  the  lady,  with  a  little  irrita- 
tion. "You  really  are  too  absent-mind- 
ed, my  dear." 

"I  believe  I  am  rather  unobservant," 
said  Juliet. 

"  Unobservant?    You  would  not  know 
it  if  two  people  made  love  to  carh  other 
under  your  very  nose!     You 
pect  anything  or  anybody.    I  belie 
Lascelles  might  put  his  arms  around  Mi-> 
Bassick  in  your  presence,  and  if  y. 
them  you  would  think  that   they 
simply  shaking  hands." 

"  His  arms  around  Miss  Bassick,  mam- 
ma?" Juliet  said,  smiling  slightly,  with 
the  color  still  in  her  "but  1  un- 

derstand— you  are  speaking  figuraf 

""Indeed  I  am    not,"  exclaim. -1    Mr-. 
Armstrong.      "There    is    no 
speech   at   all,  my  dear,  in    the    i 
As  you  are  blind  to  everything  that  is 
going  on  around  you,  and  never  o 
brought  to  think  ill  of  any  one,  I   will 
inform  you  that  Mr.  Lascelles  and  this 
shameless  creature  have  a  thorough  un- 


1G6 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


derstanding  with  each  other,  and  that  the 
embracing  ceremony  is  no  fancy  at  all. 
They  were  seen — kissing  each  other — by 
Cinda." 

"  Mr.  Lascelles !  —  kissing  Miss  Bas- 
sick?" 

"  Yes,  at  dusk,  in  the  woods.  There  is 
no  doubt  at  all  that  it  has  taken  place." 

"  Indeed,  you  surprise  me,  mamma !" 

The  color  in  the  young  lady's  face  had 
disappeared,  and  she  had  resumed  her  air 
of  tranquillity. 

"  You  seem  to  receive  the  information 
very  indifferently,  my  dear,"  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Armstrong. 

"  How  would  you  have  me  receive  it, 
mamma?  I  do  not  care  much." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  looked  shocked,  and 
said, 

"  Do  not  care !  Good  heavens,  my  own 
Juliet!  AVhat  are  you  made  of?  Are 
you  a  marble  statue  instead  of  a  young 
c;irl  of  flesh  and  blood?  Have  you  no 
pride?" 

"  I  have  a  good  deal." 

"  If  you  have  you  keep  it  all  to  yourself, 
my  dear.  Just  to  think  of  it!  Here  is 
a  young  gentleman  who  comes  to  visit  you, 
and  pays  you  every  attention,  month 
after  month — his  visits  are  known  to  ev- 
ery one,  and  your  names  are  in  every- 
body's mouth  in  the  whole  neighborhood 
— and  this  goes  on  and  on,  and  people 
arc  waiting  to  hear  what  day  has  been 
fixed  for  the  wedding,  when  suddenly 
everybody  begins  to  laugh,  and  giggle, 
and  whisper,  'That  poor  Miss  Arm- 
strong ! — Mr.  Lascelles  was  only  amusing 
himself  with  her  —  all  the  time  In-  \\a> 
making  love  to  another  person  directly 
under  her  nose — a  mere  servant !'  If  tint 
does  not  touch  your  pride,  I  do  not  know 
what  can,  Juliet." 

Juliet  slowly  raised  her  hand  and  ar- 
ranged her  back  hair,  subsequently  pat- 
ting it. 

"  Miss Bassickisnota servant,  mamma," 
she  said. 

"  There  is  no  difference  ! — a  mere  hired 
person." 

"  It  is  no  disgrace  to  be  hired.  That 
is  what  you  call  a  *  business  matter,'  and 


Miss  Bassick  seems  to  perform  the  duties 
for  which  you  employ  her." 

"  She  is  no  better  than  a  common  ser- 
vant !  And  here  she  is  scheming,  and 
making  eyes  at  your  visitors,  and  coo-coo- 
ing in  her  hateful  way,  and  meeting  them 
in  the  woods,  and  having  everybody  laugh 
at  you — to  say  nothing  of  the  insult  of- 
fered you  by  that  person,  Mr.  Lascelles !" 

"  I  do  not  feel  very  much  insulted." 

"  Then  nothing  can  insult  you,  Juliet. 
You  really  put  me  out  of  patience ! 
Yon  know  very  well,  my  dear,  that  it  is  a 
gross  insult — such  as  no  gentleman  would 
offer  a  lady — and  that  this  is  the  end,  as 
far  as  anybody  can  see,  of  all  my  exer- 
tions to  secure  a  future  of  ease  and  com- 
fort for  you." 

"  It  does  seem  so,  mamma." 

"And  you  take  it  all  as  indifferently, 
my  dear,  as  if  it  did  not  concern  you  in 
the  least.  Are  you  so  much  enamored  of 
Trianon  as  to  shrink  from  ever  leaving  it  T 

"I  like  it  well  enough,  but  it  is  not 
particularly  amusing." 

"  Are  you  contented  to  spend  your  life 
here  in  this  dull  round  of  every-day  occu- 
pations?— with  rothing  of  interest  to  at- 
tract—  no  change  from  the  humdrum 
routine  but  to  drive  out  and  talk  com- 
monplaces with  commonplace  people,  or 
go  to  that  stupid  Piedmont  and  cheapen 
dry  goods  with  those  smirking  tradesmen, 
and  meet  the  Miss  Grundys,  and  hear 
them  tattle  and  giggle,  and  come  home 
and  yawn,  and  eat,  and  go  to  sleep  ?  Are 
you  satisfied  with  such  a  life  ?" 

"  I  must  say  I  am  not,"  said  Miss  Juliet, 
candidly. 

"  One  would  think  you  certainly  were." 

"It  is  not  very  agreeable.  I  should 
not  like  to  spend  the  rest  of  my  life  in 
such  a  way.  1  like  Trianon — it  is  natu- 
ral to  like  one's  own  home — and  I  have 
you,  mamma ;  but  then  it  is  natural,  too, 
to  like  more  novelty  than  we  can  hope 
for  here." 

"  It  certainly  is,  if  anything  is  natural !" 

Juliet  looked  into  the  fire  and  said, 
thoughtfully, 

"I  think  I  should  not  be  satisfied  if  I 
was  certain  I  should  never  go  anywhere, 


YIKC1MA    r.ollI-.MIAN-. 


107 


or  see  anything.  Hardship  and  discom- 
fort would  be  much  better  than  no  change 
or  incident  at  all.  I  would  rather  be  Mrs. 
Robinson  Crusoe  on  a  desert  island,  and 
live  in  the  midst  of  privation,  if  some- 
thing new  happened  every  day,  than  live 
in  luxury  'where  one  twenty -four  hours 
was  just  like  another.  You  see,  my  defi- 
nition of  happiness,  mamma,  is  'When 
the  days  follow  and  do  not  resemble  each 
other/  " 

Miss  Juliet  aimed  apparently  at  a  full 
statement  of  her  views  upon  the  subject 
of  spending  the  remainder  of  her  exist- 
ence in  the  tranquil  shades  of  Trianon, 
which  she  evidently  contemplated  with 
verv  little  pleasure. 

"  Well,  if  that  is  your  feeling,"  said 
Mrs.  Armstrong,  "  why  are  you  so  indif- 
ferent ?  Mrs.  Kobinson  Crusoe  ! — that  is 
not  your  sphere.  You  are  a  lady,  and  en- 
titled to  surroundings  suitable  to  a  per- 
son of  your  birth  and  bringing  up.  A 
hard  life  would  never  suit  you  in  the 

Isvnof    " 

least. 

"  I  really  do  not  know,  as  I've  never 
tried  it." 

"  You  would  grow  unhappy  in  a  week. 
What  you  require  —  what  is  absolutely 
necessary  to  your  comfort,  my  dear,  is  a 
sufficiency  of  everything — I  mean,  to  live 
the  life  of  a  lady" 

44  I  confess  I  should  prefer  that.  I  am 
fond  of  nice  dresses,  and  a  good  cup  of 
tea,  and  playing  my  piano,  and  I  suppose 
I  would  not  have  time  for  these  if  I  was 
a  drudge." 

"  My  daughter  a  drudge ! — your  father's 
daughter,  who  was  not  satisfied  to  walk 
across  the  room  for  a  book  if  a  servant 
was  within  call,  and  unhappy  if  his  wine 
was  not  iced  enough  or  too  much.  You 
a  drudge !" 

"  I  should  certainly  not  like  to  be." 

"  Very  well.  We  understand  each  oth- 
er then,  my  dear.  All  my  plans  were  to 
avoid  ever  seeing  you  want  anything — 
servants  or  carriages,  or  an  elegant  ward- 
robe, or  other  luxuries  suited  to  your 
tastes.  You  would  be  singled  out  in  a 
queen's  drawing-room,  I  have  always  felt, 
for  your  beauty  and  distinction  —  and 


what    is  m.  1   than   to   have  you 

>pend  your  life  in  this  poky  place,  \\here 
no  one  will  •:.  and  yon    \\ill 

slowly  become   ;i  dried-up   old  maid   like 
MissGrnndy  I" 

Juliet  did  not  reply,  and  certainly  seem- 
ed to  have  no  desire  to  combat  the 
expressed   in   these   latter    words   of   her 
mother. 

"I  have  therefore  done  all  in  my  pow- 
er," continued  Mrs.  Armstrong,  "to  place 
you  in  the  station  of  life  which  it  is  no 
irreverence  to  say  heaven  meant  yon  to 
occupy.  There  is  a  givat  deal  of  non- 
sense— absolute  foolishness — talked  about 
'match-making  mammas/  Why  should 
not  mothers  be  match  -  makers,  as  the 
matches  made  by  their  daughters  deride 
the  whole  future  of  their  lives?  If  an 
ineligible  person  presents  himself,  why 
have  I  no  right  to  dissuade  my  daughter 
from  accepting  his  attentions?  And  if 
the  proper  person  makes  his  appearance, 
why  not  urge  you  not  to  repulse  his  ad- 
dresses r 

44 1   do  not  see  why  any  one  should 
think   you  were   wrong   in    cither 
mamma. 

"  Very  well,  apply  what  I  say  to  the 
present  occasion.  Mr.  Lascelles  is  an  eli- 
gible person,  holding  a  high  position. 
Why  should  I  not  wish  you  to  marry 
him?" 

44  It  really  seems  that  he  docs  not  in- 
tend to  ask  me,"  said  Miss  Juliet,  with 
some  humor. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  gasped. 

44 1  am  afraid  no  one  will  have  me,  and 
I  shall  die  an  old  maid  at  Trianon." 

Miss  Juliet  uttered  th«-  with 

simplicity  and  a  slight  smile.     Her  moth- 
er knit  her  brows  and  her  face  tln-ln-d. 

44  And  you  are  ready  to  retire  and  leave 
the  field  to  this  shameless  hussy ! — to  sub- 
mit to  her  insolence,  and 
carried  off  beneath  your  I— to 

have  everybody  pitying  you.  and  j 
at  your  expense — this  creature,  more  than 
all,   laughing    in    your    very    fa* 
sweeping  by  you  in  her  rustling  silk>,  the 
triumphant  Mrs.  Douglas  Lase' 

Juliet  quietly  smoothed  the  small  col- 


168 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


lar  around  her  neck,  in  which  there  was  a 
slight  wrinkle. 

"I  really  do  not  see  what  I  am  to  do, 
mamma,"  she  said.  "  If  Mr.  Lascelles 
prefers  marrying  Miss  Bassick,  I  suppose 
he  will  do  so  if  Miss  Bassick  consents. 
How  can  I  prevent  it  ?" 

"  Good  heavens,  Juliet !  Will  nothing 
arouse  a  feeling  of  the  commonest  pride 
in  you?" 

Juliet  rose  and  strolled  toward  the 
piano,  and  seating  herself  side  wise  on  the 
stool,  touched  one  of  the  keys,  which  rung 
out  in  the  silence. 

"  I  have  a  good  deal,  I  believe,  mamma, 
which  probably  serves  me  better  than  you 
think.  Pride  is  a  resource." 

She  ran  her  fingers  over  the  keys  of 
the  piano  and  a  gay  trill  followed  —  it 
sounded  like  a  sudden  burst  of  laughter. 
So  gay,  indeed,  was  it  that  it  quite  puz- 
zled Miss  Bassick.  It  was  difficult  to  as- 
sociate the  idea  of  a  tragic  interview,  full 
of  wrath,  mortification,  and  indignation, 
with  that  merry  outburst  of  the  piano; 
and  Miss  Bassick  would  have  given  a 
good  deal  to  have  heard  what  was  said,  if 
she  could  have  done  so  from  her  position 
on  the  landing  of  the  staircase. 


LVIII. 

A    TERRIBLE    INCIDENT. 

HAVING  heard  Mrs.  Armstrong  go 
down-stairs,  Miss  Bassick  had  promptly 
discontinued  the  composition  of  her  letter 
to  Mr.  Lascelles,  and  carefully  locking  it 
up  in  the  drawer  of  her  small  table,  had 
emerged  from  her  apartment  and  cautious- 
ly followed.  She  did  not  proceed  down 
the  staircase  —  the  drawing-room  door 
was  open,  and  it  really  was  too  dangerous. 
The  relations  between  Mrs.  Armstrong 
and  herself  were  in  an  unsettled  condition, 
and  rendered  a  stale  of  suspicion  on  the 
part  of  the  elder  lady  highly  probable. 
She  might  be  listening  ;  the  slightest  foot- 
fall, even  the  fall  of  the  silent  feet  of 
Miss  Bassick  on  the  carpet  of  the  stair- 
case, might  attract  her  attention ;  and 
then  there  was  the  odious  Gin  da,  whom 


Miss  Bassick  now  saw  in  her  true  lio-ht — 

& 

Cirida  might  pop  upon  the  scene  by  open-  < 
ing  a  door  at  any  instant,  and  that  would 
be  disastrous  in  the  extreme.  In  fact, 
anything  might  happen  ;  and  as  Miss  Bas- 
sick did  not  wish  anything  to  happen, 
she  observed  precautions. 

She  did  not  venture  to  proceed  far 
down  the  staircase,  and,  indeed,  stopped 
at  the  landing,  from  which  she  could 
make  her  retreat  at  once,  if  a  low  suspi- 
cion induced  Mrs.  Armstrong  to  dart  out 
and  reconnoitre.  From  this  station  she 
thrust  her  handsome  head  over  the  baluster, 
and  bent  every  faculty  to  the  task  of  hear- 
ing what  was  said.  It  really  was  a  pity; 
she  could  only  hear  a  word  here  and  there ; 
it  was  impossible  to  catch  so  much  as  a 
single  connected  sentence.  This  left  her 
in  a  state  of  painful  doubt  and  curiosity, 
and  more  than  once  she  resolved  to  risk 
discovery  and  steal  down  the  staircase. 
She  even  took  a  step  or  two,  but  then  re- 
turned to  her  position.  It  really  was  too 
great  a  risk ;  and,  with  a  keen  sense  of 
being  wronged,  Miss  Bassick  continued 
to  crane  her  head  downward,  and  strive 
to  catch  at  least  the  purport  of  what  was 
said  by  the  two  ladies.  She  could  only 
suppose,  from  the  sudden  laughter  of  the 
piano,  that  there  was  nothing  very  stern 
and  gloomy  in  the  interview — a  fact  which 
she  could  not  understand.  She  might 
go  a  little  nearer,  perhaps — presently,  that 
is ;  meanwhile  she  would  wait. 

Having  replied  to  her  mother's  charge 
that  she  had  no  pride  of  character,  Mi>-s 
Juliet,  after  running  her  fingers  over  the 
keys  of  the  piano,  added, 

"  I  have  plenty  of  pride,  mamma,  and 
I  do  not  reli^i  being  laughed  at  or  pitied 
in  the  least.  But  I  really  cannot  see,  as 
I  said  before,  how  I  am  to  prevent  Mr. 
Lascelles  from  marrying  Miss  IJa^iek  if 
he  wi>lu-s  to  do  so,  and  she  docs  not  ob- 
ject. You  say  I  am  a  young  lady,  which 
1  am  glad  to  think  I  am.  Well,  mamma, 
a  young  lady  cannot  go  to  a  gentleman 
and  say,  *  Won't  you  please  marry  me  ? — 
I  thought  you  were  going  to.  I  have  all 
my  wedding  things  rca.lv,  and  will  fix 
any  day  for  the  wedding  that  is  most 


VIRGINIA  liolIKMIANs. 


109 


nicnt  to  you — the  carlirr  the  better 
— as  inv  chief  happiness  consists  in  look- 
ing forward  t<>  the  moment  when  I  shall 
belong;  to  you,  and  be  all  your  own  !'  A 
voting  lady  cannot  very  well  say  that  to  a 
gentleman,  mamma." 

"Juliet! — for  heaven's  sake!  you  will 
drive  me  t«>  detraction  !" 

"  You  must  not  become  so  much  ex- 
cited, mamma.  I  have  no  desire  to  dis- 
tract you.  But  we  should  look  at  every- 
thing in  the  true  light.  You  say  I  have 
no  pride,  because  I  am  not  furious  at  be- 
ing treated  as  you  describe.  But  what 
good  will  it  do  to  grow  angry  ?  I  cannot 
ly  say  to  Mr.  Lascelles,  'I  am  mor- 
'titied  to  death  at  your  preference  for 
Mi-  l'.as>iek.  Won't  you  please  marry 
me  instead  of  her?  I  am  pining  away 
Jfor  you,  and  ready  to  sink  into  your  arms 
|if  you  will  only  permit  me!'  I  cannot 
jsay  that — or  even  look  it.  I  have  quite 
(enough  of  pride  to  remain  silent." 

"  And  so  you  mean  to  submit,  and  let 
this  hateful,  designing,  immodest  thing 
•carry  off  your  suitor  ?" 

"I  suppose  the  carrying  off  will  be 
done  by  Mr.  Lascelles — it  generally  is  in 
the  story-books.  If  Mr.  Lascelles  wishes 
to  marry  Miss  Bassick,  I  ought  not  to 
have  any  objection  to  his  doing  so." 

"  No  objection !  —  after  all  that  has 
passed  between  you  ?" 

"  Very  little  has  passed  between  us." 

"  He  has  been  here  every  evening  near- 
ly, and  stayed  very  late." 

"  That  is  true — much  later  than  I  liked. 
I  wish  you  had  not  gone  up-stairs  so  early. 
:It  was  frequently  as  much  as  I  could  do 
;to  avoid  yawning  in  Mr.  Lascelles' s  face. 
I  do  grow  so  sleepy." 

"I  went  because  I  thought  your  rela- 
jtions  amounted  to  an  engagement,"  ex- 
claimed Mrs.  Armstrong,  in  tones  of  out- 

2  d  propriety. 

"  Well,  I  am  not  blaming  you  in  the 
least,  mamma,"  returned  Juliet ;  "  I  only 
!  meant  that  you  have  often  left  me  to  en- 
'tcrtain  Mr.  Lascelles  by  myself,  when  I 
i  would  much  rather  have  been  curled  up 
;  snugly  in  bed." 

"  The  designing  creature !"  exclaimed 


Mrs.  Aniiistrong,  apparently  shifting  In  r 
pet  name  for  Mi--  BMBlck  1»  Mr.  Laa- 
cellcs.  uTo  u-e  >ueh  low,  ungentlcmaiily 
arts." 

"Tel-haps  \,ui  think  t<><>  har-hly  of 
him,"  said  the  young  lady,  quietly. 
"  You  know  he  is  very  1'oiid  of  111 

"  A  mere  pretence." 

"I  think  he  is.  During  his  \i-iN  I 
was  playing  and  singing  for  him  the 
greater  part  of  the  time." 

"And  he  was  hanging  around  you  \\ith 
his  smirking,  lackadaisical  smile-,  I  sup- 
pose." 

"He  was  generally  talking  as  other 
gentlemen  talk  in  morning  or  evening 
visits." 

"  Then  he  did  not — make  love  t 
at  all  ?" 

"No;  I  don't  think  I  can  say  lie  ever 
did — that  is — exactly,  I  mean.  That  was 
very  natural.  No  doubt  he  cam.;  to  see 
Miss  Bassick." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  uttered  a  sound  com- 
posed of  a  groan,  a  gasp,  and  a  sniff. 

"  So  you  mean  to  give  him  up :"  she 
said. 

"What  else  can  I  do?" 

"To  look  on  and  see  him  kissing  this 
shameless  creature  in  your  very  pres- 
ence !" 

"I  suppose  they  will  retire  before  tin -y 
begin,  mamma.  As  they  are  probably 
engaged,  they  will  follow'  the  hal-it-  of 
such  persons  and  seek  privacy  in  their 
interviews." 

"Good  heavens!  and  that  i-  all  you 
have  to  say  in  the  matter,  Juliet  !" 

"I  do  not  see  what  else  1  am  t 
mamma.     I   have   tried   to    express  my 
meaning.     Mr.  Lascelles,  I  suj 
here  to  see  me  at  first,  but  he  met  with 
Miss  Bassick — I  remember   I   inti* 
them  —  and,  instead    of  Mi  — 

Armstrong,  he    chose   the   oth«  r   young 
lady.     He  surely  had  the  right  to  do  so. 
You  wish  me  to  find  fault  with  hi: 
I  think  that  would  be  very  unreasonable, 
He  thinks  Miss  Bassick's  face  and 
are  more   attractive  than   mine,  and  he 
ought  not  to  think  of  me  if  lie  prefers 
another  person.     Don't  be  so  indignant, 


170 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


mamma,  and  make  allowances.  "NVhy 
not  shut  your  eyes,  and  let  them  do  as 
they  please?  You  certainly  don't  mean 
that  /  ought  to  go  to  Mr.  Lascelles  and 
protest!  No,  I  thank  you,  mamma;  I 
should  not  be  able  to  speak  to  him  for 
laughing." 

Miss  Juliet  touched  the  piano  with  her 
white  fingers,  and  they  laughed  out  again. 

"No,  I  thank  you,  mamma,"  she  re- 
peated, smiling. 

"And  so,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  with 
quiet  desperation,  "  we  arc  to  sit  here 
calmly,  with  our  hands  in  our  laps,  and 
accept  our  fate  ?" 

"That  would  be  the  most  dignified 
proceeding,  would  it  not?" 

"Dignified!  —  we    are    to    submit   in 

O 

humble  resignation  to  everything  ?" 

"At  least  that  would  be  cultivating  a 
Christian  state  of  feeling." 

"  For  patience'  sake,  my  dear  Juliet,  do 
not  speak  in  that  way  !  One  would  really 
say  you  were  amused  rather  than  outraged 
by  this  creature's  conduct." 

"  I  believe  I  am  a  little." 

"And  all  the  while  she  is  laughing  at 
the  thought  of  humbling  you.  It  is  in- 
tolerable!" 

"  I  do  not  feel  humbler  than  usual, 
or  as  if  any  one  were  humbling  me, 
mamma." 

"  My  dear  Juliet,  have  you  no  pride — 
no  spirit  P 

"  I  have  plenty  of  both — a  great  deal 
too  much  to  permit  myself  to  be  humbled 
by  Miss  Bassick  or  any  one.  I  suppose 
people  follow  their  characters:  I  have 
always  done  so.  If  any  one  wishes  to 
affront  me — to  cut  my  acquaintance  pub- 
licly, for  exampli — they  are  quite  at  lib- 
erty to  do  so;  it  would  not  irritate  m«- 
much.  That  is  the  good  of  Ix-in^  proud. 
And  as  to  Mi—  I'.a— iek,  it  would  not  be 
p.is>ihle  for  her  to  insult  or  wound  me." 

"I  do  trust  not — the  vile,  shameless 
creature !" 

"I  should  be  wounded  by  utikindncss 
or  injustice  from  a  person  I  lo\vd.  A- 
to  Miss  r.ass'n-k-  it  is  quite  diilerent:  ] 
have  never  liked  her  much." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  suddenly  held  up  he 


inger,  and  Juliet  stopped.  To  her  great 
urprise  her  mother  then  hastened  to  the 
door  of  the  drawing-room  and  looked 
iround  her,  in  the  hall  and  up  the  stair- 
case. 

"What  is  the  matter,  mamma?"  said 
he  young  lady. 

"I  was  certain  I  heard  steps,"  said 
Mrs.  Armstrong,  returning  to  her  scat. 
''  I  could  have  sworn  it." 

"Steps?" 

"  That  creature's !"  said  Mrs.  Arm- 
trong. 

Juliet  laughed  quietly,  and  said, 

"Dear  mamma,  you  really  have  Miss 
Bassick  on  the  brain !  Did  you  think 
she  was  listening  ?" 

"  I  was  perfectly  certain  of  it  when  I 
went  to  the  door." 

"  What  an  idea !" 

"  She  is  not  too  good  for  it.  I  have 
reason  to  believe  that  it  is  a  common 
habit  with  her." 

"  Very  well ;  but  you  see  it  was  all  your 
fancy  just  now.  She  was  not  there." 

"  Unless  she  heard  me  rise  and  ran  up- 
stairs. I  will  close  the  door." 

"Please  don't.  The  room  is  so  warn:. 
There  is  no  possibility  of  any  one  lister- 
ing." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  sure  of  that,  but  I 
suppose  it  was  my  fancy.  Good  heav- 
ens!"— the  lady  clasped  her  hands  and 
knit  her  brows — "to  live  in  the  house 
with  such  a  sciycnt  /" 

"  It  is  not  very  pleasant,"  said  Miss 
Juliet,  tranquilly.  "  To  be  frank,  mamma, 
it  has  bi'i-n  a  very  long  time  indeed  since 
I  enjoyed  Miss  liassiek's  society.  She 
was  a  very  attractive  person  at  first,  and  I 
quite  mistook  her  character.  1  am  sorry 
lo  MJ  1  s.u.n  saw  she  was  quite  a  dilTi-r- 
ent  person.  She  is  very  insimviv.  1 
could  not  conceal  my  opinion  of  her,  I 
suppose,  and  perhaps  that  H  why  she  dis- 
likes me  ;  I  think  she  does." 

"And  for  that  reason  she  will  enjoy 
her  triumph  over  you  all  the  more!"  ex- 
elaime<l  Mrs.  Armstrong,  piteously. 

"  She  is  entirely  at  liberty  to  do  so. 
She  is  quite  welcome  to  Mr.  Lascelles,  if 
she  wishes  to  marrv  him.  You  sec  I  am 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


171 


frank ;  and  to  be  entirely  so,  I  must  tell 
you — as  the  time  seems  to  have  c.uiie  for 
it — that  I  really  have  no  desire  whatever 
to  become  Mrs.  Laseelles." 

"  So  that  is  the  end  of  the  whole  mat- 
ter!"  groaned  the  elder  lady,  preparing  to 
shed  tears  by  pulling  out  her  handker- 
chief. 

"Don't  cry,  mamma,'1  said  Juliet,  quiet- 
ly ;  "  you  must  have  more  pride.  If 
you  cry  I  shall  have  to  pet  you,  and  that 
will  make  me  forget  what  I  had  to  say." 

"  What  you  had  to  say  ?"  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong sniffed. 

"I  was  speaking  of  Mr.  Lascclles,  and 
wished  to  say  something  more.  You 
know  I  do  not  talk  much  about  people; 
so  you  ought  to  listen  when  I  do — as  it 
is  such  a  novelty." 

"Ah  me!"  came  with  a  long  breath 
from  the  lady. 

"  I  must  say  that  Mr.  Lascelles  is  not 
at  all  to  my  taste,"  said  Juliet,  in  a  tone 
of  great  frankness.  "  I  received  his  at- 
tentions because  you  desired  me  to  do  so 
— for  no  other  reason.  I  form  my  opin- 
ion of  people  very  much  by  a  sort  of  in- 
stinct, and  generally  like  or  dislike  them 
at  once.  I  never  liked  Mr.  Lascelles : 
he  is  by  no  means  a  candid  or  sincere 
person,  and  there  is  a  peculiar  expression 
of  his  face  which  I  do  not  at  all  like — he 
seems  to  be  watching.  His  manners  are 
very  good,  but  he  wants  frankness.  I  do 
not  like  that  sort  of  person,  and  could 
not  have  married  him  unless  my  feelings 
had  entirely  changed.  I  did  not  tell  you 
this  before,  as  I  was  afraid  of  causing  you 
disappointment  and  pain,  mamma;  but  it 
is  useless  now  to  conceal  anything,  as  Mr. 
Lascelles  won't  have  me.  You  will  see 
now  why  I  am  not  so  much  distressed, 
and  quite  willing  that  Miss  Bassick  shall 
monopolize  him." 

This  by  no  means  pleased  Miss  Bassick, 
who  had  descended  the  stairs  far  enough 
to  hear  every  word  that  was  said. 

"  And  as  to  Miss  Bassick  herself,"  con- 
tinued Miss  Juliet,  who  seemed  to  be  in 
an  unusually  communicative  mood,  "I 
may  have  been  a  little  too  harsh  in  my 
estimate  of  her  character.  Her  position 


should  be  remembered.  She's  an  orphan, 
with  no  home  or  family,  and  naturallv 
wishes  to  secure  one.  Tin-  La»ec-i! 
very  nice  people,  and  Wye  is  a  very  at- 
tractive pin.-,-,  and  Miss  l',;i»i.-lv  sets  h.-r 
cap  for  the  heir;  that  is  her  own  atlair. 
I  can  only  say  that  I  could  never  do  so 
unless  the  attraction  were  the  gentleman 
himself.  I  cannot  find  a  word  for  such  a 
thing,  and  if  Miss  Bassick  has  don  I 
am  sincerely  sorry.  I  hope  she  is  not 
capable  of  disgracing  her  sex  so  inueh. 
I  have  not  a  very  good  opinion  of  her,  I 
fear,  especially  as  she  has  been  so  very 
cruel  to  me" — here  Miss  Juliet's  voice 
laughed  quietly — "  but  I  should  not  like 
to  lose  every  particle  of  respect  for  her." 

Listening,  and  inwardly  aware  of  her 
real  sentiment  for  Mr.  Lascclles,  which 
was  sincere  indifference,  Miss  Bassick  felt 
gall  and  wormwood — to  express  the  idea 
succinctly.  She  had  a  good  deal  of  a 
certain  sort  of  pride,  and  an  extremely 
favorable  opinion  of  herself ;  and  Juliet's 
indifference  exasperated  her.  This  senti- 
ment was  much  increased  by  Juliet's  care- 
less touch  on  the  piano  and  her  next 
words : 

"And  now,  mamma,  I  really  think  we 
have  said  enough.  There,  don't  cry; 
why  should  you?  There  never  wa-  a 
single  moment  when  I  could  have  married 
Mr.  Lascelles.  Miss  Bassick  is  perfectly 
welcome  to  him.  She  may  suppose  that 
she  is  triumphing  over  me,  to  use  your 
own  phrase,  and  be  pleased  at  the  thought 
that  she  will  pay  me  back  for  my  cold- 
ness to  her,  which  I  was  really  unable  to 
conceal.  You  see  I  shall  not  be  as  miu-h 
hurt  as  she  thinks.  If  she  were  present 
I  could  tell  her  with  perfect  sincerity  that 
all  her  acting  and  concealments  \\,  r" 
quite  unnecessary,  and  that  I,  at  1<  a-t, 
should  make  no  sort  of  objection  if  she 
came  into  the  drawing-room  and  received 
Mr.  Lascelles  as  a  lady  should  do.  Hut 
as  she  is  not  present,  and  we  arc  abusing 
her  behind  her  back,"  Miss  Juliet 
touching  her  piano,  and  uttering  her 
frank  laugh,  "  we  ought  not  to — 

"She  is  present!"  cried  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong, rushing  to  the  door. 


172 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


Thereupon  a  terrible  incident  occurred 
— the  writer  almost  shrinks  from  attempt- 
ing to  paint  it.  Such  occurrences  are 
much  better  understood  and  appreciated 
from  scenic  representation  than  from 
mere  descriptions  through  the  agency  of 
pen  and  ink.  Miss  Bassick's  position 
upon  the  staircase  just  without  the  door 
of  the  drawing-room  has  been  alluded  to. 
She  had  ventured  to  steal  down  the  softly 
carpeted  staircase  until  she  had  reached 
this  position,  trusting  to  her  "  shoes  of  si- 
lence" not  to  be  discovered.  But  stair- 
cases will  creak  in  the  best  regulated 
houses,  and  howrcver  carefully  the  skirts 
of  dresses  are  held  up  they  will  rustle  a 
little.  Twice  thus  Miss  Bassick  had  ad- 
vanced carefully,  and  managed  to  listen. 
"\Vliat  she  heard  did  not  put  her  in  a  very 
good  humor;  but  clinching  her  pretty 
fist,  she  leaned  fonvard  endeavoring  to 
catch  every  word,  when  she  heard  a  noise 
at  the  back-door  of  the  passage  and  rap- 
idly ran  up-stairs. 

It  was  this  sound  which  had  induced 
Mre.  Armstrong  to  exclaim  "  She  is  pres- 
ent !"  and  to  dart  toward  the  door  and 
into  the  passage.  This  resulted  in  the 
terrible  incident  referred  to  above.  She 
was  precipitated  into  the  fragrant  arms 
of  Cinda,  and  their  faces  came  into  col- 
lision. Cinda,  in  fact,  had  occasioned  the 
noise  which  Miss  Bassick  had  heard. 
Having  discovered  that  the  young  lady 
was  not  in  her  room,  the  colored  maiden 
had  hastened  delightedly  down  the  back 
staircase  to  report  the  fact — to  be  mys- 
terious, and  express  with  a  giggling  ac- 
companiment her  private  opinion  that  a 
secret  interview  was  in  progress;  and  en- 
tering the  ]>;i-<:i'_:''\  had  reached  the  door 
of  the  drawing-room,  in  which  she  heard 
voices,  just  in  time  to  be  rushed  into  by 
Mrs.  Armstrong. 

Cinda  staggered,  and  threw  out  her 
arms  wildly,  clasping  tho  lady  to  her 
bosom.  As  the  nwidm  was  somewhat 
slovenly,  not  to  say  dirty,  this  embrace 
was  rather  ardent  than  pure.  In  the 
midst  of  "silvery  laughter"  from  the  di- 
rection of  the  piano,  Mrs.  Armstrong  vio- 
lently extricated  hei^elf  from  the  em- 


brace of  Cinda;  and  that  fair  one,  with 
hasty  explanations,  and  in  a  state  of  dis- 
comfiture, vanished.  As  to  Miss  Bassick, 
she  was  nowhere  to  be  seen. 

The  interview  between  mother  and 
daughter  soon  terminated.  Being  ap- 
pealed to  as  to  what  should  be  done, 
Miss  Juliet  very  quietly  replied,  "  Noth- 
ing, mamma."  It  would  be  extremely 
unkind,  she  said,  to  turn  Miss  Bassick 
away,  as  she  had  no  home :  it  would  be 
better  to  give  her  time,  at  least,  to  seek  for 
one — and  as  the  fearful  Miss  Grundy  rose 
before  the  eyes  of  the  elder  lady,  she  con- 
sented. She  had  recourse  to  her  hand- 
kerchief, and  sniffed  in  a  painful  manner, 
clasped  Miss  Juliet  to  her  breast,  and  be- 
moaned the  presence  of  shameless  creat- 
ures, when  the  gate  of  the  grounds  was 
heard  to  open,  and  looking  through  the 
window  she  saw  Mr.  Douglas  Lascelles 
riding  in. 

"There  he  is!"  she  exclaimed.—"! 
can't  trust  myself  to  speak  to  him." 

"  I  would  not,  then,"  said  Juliet,  quietly. 

"  And  you  ought  not  to,  Juliet.  Come, 
my  dear ;  I  will  send  word  that  you  are 
engaged." 

"  I  am  not  at  all  engaged,  mamma ;  I 
am  uncommonly  idle." 

"  You  do  not  mean  to  see  him,  Juliet  ?" 

"W.hy  not?" 

"  After  our  conversation  ?" 

"  Certainly,  mamma.  That  makes  no 
difference.  My  opinion  of  Mr.  Laseelles 
has  not  altered,  and  I  have  nothing  in  the 
world  to  complain  of." 

"\Yith  these  tranquil  words  the  young 
lady  went  and  sat  down  in  one  of  the 
arm-chairs  irr  front  of  the  fire,  just  as  Mr. 
Lascelles  approached  the  house. 

As  to  Mrs.  Armstrong,  she  tossed  her 
head  and  walked  np-stairs  to  her  cham- 
ber, slamming  the  door  behind  her. 


LIX. 

THE   FOE   OF   RITUALISM. 

IT  was  about  half-past  eleven  o'clock 
at  night.  Mr.  (Jrantham  was  seated  in 
his  study  at  the  parsonage,  engaged  on 


VIRGINIA    BOHEMIANS. 


his  "History  of  Ritualism,"  upon  which 
la-  h:n I  been  writing  assiduously  since  his 
early  tea. 

It  was  tho  general  subject  of  High 
Chuivhism,  under  the  form  of  Ritualism, 
that  Mr.  (Jrantham  attacked  in  his  his- 
tory; the  English  movement  first,  then 
.tension  into  the  United  States. 
Dr.  Pusey  and  Dr.  Newman  had  a  very 
hard  time  of  it.  Mr.  Grantham  did  not 
wish  anybody  to  be  burnt  at  the  stake, 
and  Servetus  would  never  have  suffered 
the  least  personal  inconvenience  at  his 
hands  ;  but  he  stood  up  for  the  faith,  and 
smote  its  foes  with  all  his  might.  He 
denounced  opinions  so  vigorously  that 
those  who  held  them  received  a  full 
share  of  his  blows.  That  was  their  fault 
— they  got  in  the  way.  He  was  equally 
unceremonious  with  his  American  breth- 
ren. He  figuratively  took  the  leaders  of 
the  Ritualistic  movement  in  the  United 
States  by  the  beard,  and  haled  them  to 
and  fro,  chastising  them  with  their  chas- 
ubles, and  suffocating  them  with  the  in- 
cense of  their  censers.  In  doing  so,  of 
course,  he  was  doing  his  duty.  He  had 
the  kindest  feeling,  personally,  toward 
the  High  -  Church  magnates.  He  was  a 
very  mild  man,  and  would  have  invited 
the  Pope  of  Rome  into  his  study,  and 
given  him  his  best  cup  of  tea,  and  laugh- 
ed and  talked  with  him  in  a  friendly  way. 
But  then  he  was  Antichrist,  and  polemi- 
cally was  to  be  overthrown  and  extermi- 
nated. So  with  Ritualism. 

Midnight  was  near  now,  and  Mr.  Gran- 
tham was  still  at  work.  He  had  forgot- 
ten everything  else — even  Ellis  and  his 
beloved  poor.  Toil  absorbs.  The  writer 
goes  into  another  world  when  he  writes. 
He  is  not  living  here  and  now,  but  else- 
where, and  a  long  time  ago,  perhaps. 
Thus  he  forgets,  and  toil  brings  him  that 
blessing.  Blessed  toil!  After  all  it  is 
the  grand  comforter.  Company  does 
not  replace  it.  The  empty  rattle  of 
tongues  offends  the  man  who  seeks  si- 
lence and  himself  —  the  hubbub  jars  on 
the  tired  ear  and  the  tired  heart,  which 
goes  away  from  it  to  remember.  And 
books  ?  —  travel  ?  They  are  not  much, 


173 

after  all.  IMe--ed  toil!  you  take  the 
heavy -hearted  in  your  soft  arms  and 
soothe  him.  You  touch  his  eyelid-,  and 
he  no  longer  looks  back  wan!  groaning. 
You  wave  your  wand,  and  all  the  pa-t 
goes  into  oblivion,  I  Messed  toil  of  the 
lonely  writer!  There  i-  -oinethin 
ter  for  the  unhappy  than  pleasure,  or 
ambition,  or  the  glitter  of  life's  tin-el. 
It  is  the  toil  that  absorbs,  and  take.,  the 
toiler  away  into  another  world,  where  the 
memory  of  his  woe  cannot  reach  him. 

At  last  midnight  struck,  and  Mr.  <!ran- 
tham  decided  that  he  would  retire.  He 
was  not  weary  of  his  work,  but  as  his 
health  was  not  robust,  he  was  physically 
somewhat  fatigued.  He  therefore  ar- 
ranged the  written  sheets  of  the  "  His- 
tory" just  composed — they  were  quite  a 
pile — and  put  them  aside.  He  then  n-e 
and  stood  in  front  of  his  fire,  reflecting. 
You  would  not  have  supposed  that  he 
had  been  engaged  in  bitter  denunciation 
of  anybody.  His  expression  was  sad. 
In  fact,  he  was  thinking  about  his  poor 
people,  and  that  they  would  probably 
suffer  on  so  chill  a  night.  The  weather 
had  blown  up  cold,  and  the  gusty  wind 
was  whistling  around  the  gables  of  the 
house.  That  is  not  generally  an  uncom- 
fortable sound :  one  thinks  how  plea-ant 
it  is  to  be  housed,  and  enjoying  the 
warmth  of  a  cheerful  fire.  It  was,  how- 
ever, unpleasant  to  Mr.  Grantham.  lie 
was  thinking  that  perhaps  his  poor  folks 
might  be  without  fuel,  which  was  sadden- 
ing. 

From  this  subject  he  passed  to  Ellis. 
He  had  not  finished  the  letter  begun  just 
before  the  visit  from  the  poor  man  who 
had  been  "burnt  out"  in  the  mountain 
— that  strange  personage,  who,  perhaps 
by  way  of  contempt  for  the  humble  of- 
fering made  him,  had  left  the  whole  lying 
upon  the  bench  of  the  porch  that  night. 
This  fact  had  aroused  surprise  and  -pecu- 
lation, but  Mr.  Grantham  had  now  quite 
forgotten  it.  lie  was  thinking  about  his 
dear  Ellis,  who  was  coming  home  at  once, 
a  young  deacon.  The  face  of  the  father 
plowed  at  that  thought.  He  would  soon 
see  Ellis  now,  and  enjoy  long  hours  and 


174 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


days  of  talk  with  him — if  the  young  man 
was  not  too  much  at  Wye.  The  worthy 
pastor  had  given  much  reflection  to  the 
subject  of  Ellis  and  Miss  Anna  Gray,  and 
had  pretty  nearly  convinced  himself  that 
something  was  going  on  in  that  quarter. 
Ellis  and  Anna  had  been  brought  up  to- 
gether. She  was  precisely  the  person 
calculated  to  make  an  impression  upon 
his  son.  She  was  not  only  very  attrac- 
tive in  the  beauty  which  perishes,  but  had 
the  sweetest  possible  disposition,  and  was 
devotedly  pious.  It  was  thus  very  nat- 
ural that  Ellis  should  have  become  -fond 
of  her — she  would  exactly  suit  a  young 
minister.  As  to  whether  the  young 
lady's  sentiments  responded  to  the  young 
man's,  there  could  be  very  little  doubt  of 
that,  Mr.  Grantham  inwardly  decided. 
Who  would  not  be  glad  to  marry  his 
Ellis? 

This  train  of  thought  led  to  another. 
Ellis  married,  and  soon  to  be  regularly 
ordained  as  a  minister,  would  no  doubt 
be  stationed  in  some  small  country  parish 
for  his  year  of  trial.  Then  he  would  be 
transferred  to  some  more  extended  sphere 
— perhaps  to  Piedmont,  as  his  own  assist- 
ant and  successor.  Mr.  Grantham  did 
not  want  an  assistant.  Bishop  Meade, 
his  dear  friend,  had  often  urged  him  to 
devolve  on  some  young  associate  his  on- 
erous labors  for  the  poor,  at  least.  But 
this  did  not  suit  Mr.  Grantham,  and  he 
had  always  refused.  It  was  his  place,  he 
said,  to  spend  and  be  spent  in  his  Master's 
service.  He  was  quite  strong  enough  to 
labor  still,  and  did  not  need  an  assistant. 
When  old  age  came,  and  his  strength 
was  worn  out,  he  would  retire,  when  his 
Master  would  take  care  of  him.  As  to 
having,  therefore,  an  onlinary  assistant  to 
divide  his  labor,  Mr.  (irantham  was  in- 
tractable. But  to  have  Ellis  as  his  as>ist- 
ant  meant  not  so  much  to  have  an  mut- 
ant as  to  have  Ellis.  They  would  be  to- 
n-eth-T,  and  life  would  \>c  sweet.  Grand- 
children would  grow  up  around  him  in 
the  quiet  parsonage — for  they  would,  of 
ooursr,  live  with  each  other.  Mrs.  Anna 
would  sit  at  the  head  of  the  table,  Ellis 
at  the  foot,  and  he  at  the  side.  The 


children,  in  lofty  chairs,  would  flourish 
their  spoons  and  request  to  be  helped 
first.  There  would  be  a  delightful  hub- 
bub, and  a  great  deal  of  laughter  and 
love.  When  he  went  back  to  his  study 
and  his  "  History  of  Ritualism  "  he  would 
shut  all  this  out,  it  was  true,  before  pay- 
ing his  respects  to  Dr.  Pusey ;  but  then 
he  would  have  the  delightful  conscious- 
ness, from  the  patter  of  small  feet  over- 
head, that  his  dear  ones  were  there  near 
him,  and  might  burst  in — which  would 
be  charming. 

Lastly,  there  was  the  successorship. 
The  assistant  would  one  day  become  the 
principal,  perhaps.  Everybody  loved  and 
admired  Ellis — in  fact,  the  whole  parish 
were  entirely  devoted  to  him.  Why  not 
look  forward  to  the  day  when  a  young- 
er Rev.  Mr.  Grantham  would  officiate  in 
the  mountain  parish?  The  years  were 
passing  steadily,  and  more  and  more  rap- 
idly. There  was  a  day  hidden  somewhere 
in  the  future  when  the  burial  -  service 
would  be  read  in  the  village  graveyard, 
and  it  would  not  be  Mr.  Grantham,  Sr., 
who  would  read  it.  In  fact,  that  would 
be  impossible.  This  particular  Mr.  Gran- 
tham would  not  only  not  read  it,  br.t 
would  not  even  hear  it  read.  His  ears 
would  be  quite  deaf,  and  he  would  net 
see  the  crowd  of  weeping  friends  around 
the  grave,  since  it  would  be  his  own  grave. 
But  that  would  not  matter  much.  His 
poor  would  have  a  friend  still  in  the  Rev. 
Mr.  Grantham,  Jr.,  the  new  incumbent  of 
the  Piedmont  parish,  who  would  grow 
old  there  with  his  dear  Anna,  following 
the  same  routine  of  quiet  duty  which  an- 
other one  of  the  same  name  had  followed 
before  him. 

This  thought  was  quite  delightful  to 
Mr.  <i  rant  ham.  He  gazed  placidly  at  his 
old  secretary,  as  that  happened  to  l>e  the 
object  which  his  eyes  rested  upon  at  the 
moment,  but  did  not  see  it,  owing  to  the 
fact  that  he  was  looking  at  Ellis,  and 
holding  out  his  arms  to  his  grandchildren. 
Nevertheless,  the  fact  of  the  existence  of 
the  secretary  slowly  dawned  upon  his 
mind,  and  the  old  piece  of  furniture  con- 
nected itself  with  the  subject  of  his  re- 


VIRGINIA    lUjlil-MIAXS. 


175 


flections.  lie  always  kept  Ellis' s  letters 
in  a  drawer  of  this  secretary,  ami  had 
a  speeial  bundle  there  containing  those 
written  during  the  young  man's  boyhood 
from  school — in  fact,  his  very  first  he  had 
even  preserved,  lie  thought  now  that  he 
would  take  a  look  at  these ;  so  he  went 
and  opened  the  drawer  containing  them, 
with  a  key  which  ho  drew  from  his  pock- 
et, and  took  out  the  bundle  and  untied 
the  red  tape  around  it.  A  cheerful  peru- 
sal of  several  of  the  letters  followed. 
They  were  written  in  a  very  juvenile,  not 
to  say  illiterate,  manner,  but  the  reader 
did  not  observe  that  fact,  or  notice  any 
fault  in  the  grammar.  This  was  natural. 
Ellis  had  written  the  letters.  Having  re- 
freshed himself  with  this  fatherly  occu- 
pation, Mr.  Grantham  then  tied  the  letters 
up  again,  replaced  them  in  the  drawer, 
closed  it,  and  returned  quickly  to  the  fire 
to  extinguish  a  coal  which  had  popped 
out  upon  the  old  worn  carpet.  From 
this  resulted  a  simple  circumstance.  He 
quite  forgot  that  he  had  left  the  key  of 
the  drawer  in  the  lock.  He  then  thought 
he  would  go  to  bed  —  and  this  he  pro- 
ceeded to  do,  first  covering  up  the  fire 
with  ashes,  which  was  his  regular  routine. 
With  his  candlestick  in  his  hand,  Mr. 
Grantham  went  slowly  up-stairs  and  reach- 
ed his  chamber,  in  which  there  was  a 
glimmering  fire.  Then  succeeded  a  cere- 
mony which  was  based  on  principle  with 
this  worthy  man.  He  put  out  his  candle. 
It  is  true  the  candle  was  not  more  than 
an  inch  long,  but  then  an  inch  of  candle 
was  an  inch  of  candle.  It  would  be  val- 
uable to  many  a  poor  person ;  and  in  any 
event  it  ought  not  to  be  burnt  unneces- 
sarily. The  firelight  was  quite  sufficient 
to  retire  by.  Therefore,  Mr.  Grantham 
put  out  his  candle,  and  knelt  to  perform 
his  private  devotions.  These  were  not 
especially  protracted,  as  the  good  man 
did  not  believe  in  much  speaking,  and 
uniformly  omitted  all  adjurations  involv- 
ing the  phrase  "  Thou  hast,"  as  being  un- 
necessary, since  He  whom  he  addressed 
did  not  need  to  be  informed  in  what  man- 
ner He  had  blessed  or  afflicted  his  chil- 
dren. He  prayed  for  those  in  authority, 


but  only  that  they  might  l»e  endued  with 
heavenly  gra.v,  after  which  In-  left  the 
details  uinneiitioned.  As  to  tin-  North  or 
South,  or  this  party  or  that,  he  had  noth- 
ing to  say  on  the  subject.  lie  j. rayed 
for  his  enemies,  and  forgave  them  in  his 
heart  as  he  did  so.  lie  always  < -ruled 
with  "Lord  keep  me  from  unrharity." 

After  rising  from  his  km-.-x,  Mr.  <Jran- 
thain  took  off  his  voluminous  white  cra- 
vat and  hung  it  over  the  back  of  a  chair. 
He  then  remained  standing  in  front  of 
the  fire  without  further  disrobing.  In 
fact,  his  ardor  in  the  composition  of  his 
History  had  excited  his  nerves.  He  was 
not  at  all  sleepy  —  and  then  there  was 
Ellis  to  think  about.  He  would  be  home 
in  a  few  days  now.  That  broken  pane  in 
his  chamber  must  be  attended  to  the  very 
first  thing  in  the  morning.  The  wind 
whistling  around  the  gables  admonished 
him  that  broken  panes  were  not  desirable 
as  December  approached.  He  must  not 
fail  to  think  of  it.  All  at  once  a  low 
sound  mingled  with  the  shrill  song  of  the 
wind.  This  sound  came  from  below — 
apparently  from  his  study  —  and  resem- 
bled stealthy  steps. 


LX. 

THE    BURGLAR. 

MR.  GRANTHAM  was  not  at  all  nervous, 
or  given  to  hearing  strange  sounds ;  and 
yet  the  idea  occurred  to  him  that  he  must 
really  have  overworked  himself  during 
the  evening.  Now,  overwork  produces 
tension  of  the  nervous  organization.  Mr. 
Grantham  was  aware  of  the  fact,  and  in- 
formed himself  that  he  had  been  impru- 
dent. 

This  view  of  the  case,  in  fact,  seemed 
supported  by  circumstances.  The  noise 
had  ceased  at  once,  which  was  a  proof 
that  it  was  due  to  his  imagination. 
Where  there  was  nothing  to  hear  nothing 
could  have  been  heard.  It  was  a  mere 
illusion  of  his  overtaxed  senses  that  steps 
had  moved  about  in  his  study.  That 
was  impossible.  The  house  was  locked, 
and  he  had  not  been  up-stairs  for  more 


176 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


than  half  an  hour — at  all  events,  not  an 
hour.  All  was  secure  —  his  old  servant 
had  long  been  asleep — it  was  physically 
impossible  that  a  person  could  have  en- 
tered the  house,  even  if  it  were  conceiv- 
able that  any  human  being  could  have 
reasons  for  doing  so.  Enter  a  parsonage 
between  the  hours  of  midnight  and  one 
in  the  morning?  With  what  object? 
There  was  nothing  to  steal  in  a  parsonage, 
unless  the  thief  were  theological  in  his 
tastes  and  coveted  works  on  Divinity. 

This  idea  caused  Mr.  Grantham  to 
smile.  He  was  the  impecunious  viator, 
he  reflected,  who  need  not  be  afraid  of 
robbers.  And  as  to  murdering  him,  what 
living  creature  had  any  reason  to  thirst 
for  his  blood?  Mr.  Grantham's  smile 
grew  more  cheerful,  and  he  reflected  that 
he  must  have  overworked  his  nervous 
system  very  much  indeed,  to  have  it  play 
him  such  vagaries.  Then  suddenly  he 
heard  the  stealthy  steps  a  second  time. 

At  this  Mr.  Grantham  moved  his  head 
quickly,  and  remained  perfectly  still  and 
motionless,  listening.  He  did  not  hear 
the  steps  again,  but  what  he  did  hear  was 
a  low,  grating  sound,  which  resembled 
that  produced  by  the  opening  or  closing 
of  a  drawer  which  is  a  little  swollen  and 
does  not  readily  slide  forward  or  back- 
ward. This  satisfied  him  that  he  had 
not  overworked  his  nerves,  after  all.  He 
had  really  heard  what  he  thought  he  had 
heard.  Some  one  was  in  his  study  ! 

Mr.  Grantham  was  a  very  sweet-tem- 
pered and  peaceful  man  in  his  disposi- 
tion, but  a  very  cool  and  resolute  one. 
A  great  deal  of  force  of  character  lay 
under  his  gentle  smile.  lie  lit  his  candle 
at  the  fire,  went  to  his  door,  opened  it 
quietly,  and  went  out  into  the  little  pa<- 
sage  leading  to  tin-  staircase.  Here  he 
stopped  and  listened.  V«r  some  mo- 
ments all  was  quite  silent,  and  In-  bi-gan 
to  think  that  after  all  In-  hail  really  heard 
nothing.  Then  an  indistinct  sound  airain 
came  from  the  study. 

This  derided  Mr.  (Jrantham,  and  In- 
walked  quietly  down  the  narrow  stairea-^. 
As  he  wore  slippers  —  his  habit  in  the 
evening — his  steps  made  no  noise  what- 


ever. He  reached  the  bottom  of  the 
stairs,  went  along  the  passage,  and  open- 
ed the  door  of  the  study. 

As  the  door  opened,  a  man,  who  was 
kneeling  in  front  of  the  old  secretary 
from  which  Mr.  Grantham  had  taken 
Ellis's  letters,  rose  suddenly  to  his  feet. 
The  fire  had  been  stirred  up,  and  lit  the 
apartment — a  light  which  was  not  need- 
ed, however,  as  Mr.  Grantham  had  his 
candle.  He  came  into  the  room  and 
stood  facing  the  man,  who  was  coarsely 
dressed,  and  had  hastily  drawn  a  short 
black  veil  over  his  face,  apparently  sewed 
to  the  lining  of  his  hat.  This  disguise 
had  two  holes  for  the  eyes,  and  reached 
to  his  upper  lip,  which  was  bearded  like 
his  chin. 

"Who  are  you,  friend,  and  what  is 
your  object  in  entering  my  house?"  said 
Mr.  Grantham,  mildly. 

The  intruder  had  put  his  hand  into  his 
pocket,  apparently  to  draw  some  weapon, 
but  at  these  words  took  it  out  again,  as 
if  convinced  that  it  was  unnecessary. 
He  stood  looking  at  the  master  of  the 
house,  but  said  nothing. 

"  What  is  your  object  in  entering  my 
poor  house  ?"  said  Mr.  Grantham.  "  I 
cannot  imagine  how  you  did  so,  or  why. 
There  is  nothing  here  of  any  value,  if 
theft  is  your  aim.  How  can  there  be?" 

To  this  second  question  the  man  made 
no  more  reply  than  to  the  first.  He  was 
apparently  hesitating  what  course  to  pur- 
sue, or  what  to  say.  He  had  in  his  hand 
the  very  bundle  of  letters,  tied  with  red 
tape,  which  Mr.  Grantham  had  examine  1 
an  hour  before,  and  grasped  it  irresolute- 
ly. Mr.  Grantham  noticed  that. 

"  Those  letters  you  have  in  your  hand,1' 
he  said,  mildly,  "were  written  by  my  son 
when  lie  was  a  child.  They  are  valuable 
to  me,  but  can  be  of  no  value  at  all  to 
you.  Why  do  you  disturb  them  .'" 

"I  don't  want  the  letters"  said  the 
man,  in  a  grufl  voice,  letting  the  bundle 
fall  to  the  floor,  and  fixing  his  eyes  upon 
Mr.  <J  rant  ham. 

"  Why  take  them  from  my  drawer, 
then,  friend  ?  And  why  do  you  stand 
like  a  robber  in  a  stage-play,  looking  at 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


177 


me  and  scarcely  speaking?  You  must 
have  sumo  object  in  putting  yourself  to 
so  much  trouble." 

"  I  have  an  object,"  said  the  intruder, 
coolly :  "  it  is  not  to  rob  you  of  your 
property.  As  you  say,  there  is  nothing 
(here  to  tempt  anybody.  I  was  looking 
|  for  some  papers." 

"Some  papers?  What  papers? — and 
what  possible  value  can  any  of  my  papers 
be  to  you  ?'r 

Feeling  a  little  tired  standing,  Mr. 
Gran th am  sat  down,  and  said  to  the  bur- 
glar, 

"  Take  a  seat,  friend.  I  always  prefer 
to  sit  when  I  am  talking,  and  perhaps 
you  may  prefer  it,  also." 

The  burglar  obeyed  this  suggestion  by 
sitting  down  in  a  hesitating  manner — his 
eyes  fixed  upon  Mr.  Grantham,  who  was, 
however,  quite  unable  to  see  their  expres- 
sion. 

"  Now  tell  me  all  about  it,  friend,"  said 
Mr.  Grantham,  in  the  same  mild  voice. 
"  You  will  acknowledge  that  this  inci- 
I  dent  is  a  little  out  of  the  common  path 

I*  of  e very-day  experience.  It  is  unusual  to 
find  my  house  entered  at  dead  of  night, 
I  and  my  drawers  searched  for  papers. 
I  Papers !  What  papers  do  you  wish  ?  I 
I  have  only  letters  and  sermons.  You  can 
I  scarcely  wish  the  latter,  friend  —  they 
would  not  suit  your  occupation  precisely. 
Explain  your  object,  and  what  papers  in 
my  possession  could  possibly  be  of  any 
interest  to  you." 

"  Mr.  Grantham,"  said  the  burglar. 
"  Well,  my  friend  ?" 
"  You  are  a  brave  man." 
"Brave?     It  is  true  that  was  said  of 
me  when  I  was  a  young  man — and,  I  am 
afraid,  a  very  bad  one.     But  I  do  not 
wish  to  be  thought  brave  in  all  things. 
If  you  mean  that  I  do  not  grow  pale 
and  tremble  from  fear  of  you,  you  are 
right/' 

"  You  are  brave  all  the  same,"  said  the 
burglar.  "  What  is  to  prevent  my  mur- 
dering you?  I  am  armed  and  you  are 
not.  This  is  an  ugly  looking  toy — what 
do  you  say  to  it  ?" 

He  put  his  hand  into  his  breast,  and 
12 


drew  fn.m  the  inner  pocket  of  his  coat  a 
bowie-knife. 

"lam  a  stronger  man  than  yon,"  lie 
said,  "and  one  wipe  with  this  would  do 
for  you." 

Mr.  Grantham  looked  at  the  knife  (juito 
calmly,  and  said, 

"That  is  a  murderous-looking  weapon, 
friend.  It  is  not  possible  that  you  <-<>iil<l 
have  the  heart  to  use  it  against  a  fellow- 
being." 

"A  fellow-being  might  crowd  a  man  a 
little  too  close — then  a  bowie  is  a  good 
thing  to  have  about  you." 

"  If  you  are  attacked,  you  mean,  no 
doubt.  But  then  it  is  not  necessary  to 
be  attacked.  I  am  nearly  seventy,  and  I 
have  never  been  in  a  brawl.  Come,  put 
up  your  knife,  friend.  I  suppose  you  do 
not  mean  to  use  it  to  take  my  life.  If  it 
is  meant  to  frighten  me,  you  may  as  well 
put  it  up  also.  It  does  not  frighten  me." 

"  I  said  you  were  brave,"  was  the  burg- 
lar's reply ;  "  and  I'll  be  plain  with  you, 
and  say  I'm  rather  ashamed  of  this  busi- 
ness— meddling  with  a  man  like  you." 

He  put  the  knife  back  in  his  pocket, 
and  said, 

"You  asked  me  just  now  what  I  came 
here  for.  I  came  to  get  some  papers. 
Do  you  want  a  story  to  explain  why  I 
am  after  the  papers  ?  Here  is  the  story." 

"  I  should  like  to  hear  it,"  said  Mr. 
Grantham.  He  had  placed  his  candle  on 
the  table,  and  was  leaning  back  in  his 
chair,  with  his  elbows 'resting  upon  the 
arms,  and  the  tips  of  his  fingers  just 
touching — the  palms  of  the  hands  open. 
In  this  attitude  he  presented  the  appear- 
ance of  a  person  at  ease  in  his  elbow- 
chair,  and  listening  to  a  friend  conversing. 
Opposite  sat  the  burglar,  erect  in  a  stiff- 
backed  chair  near  the  open  drawer.  As 
Mr.  Grantham  had  closed  the  door  be- 
hind him  when  he  came  in,  they  were 
alone  together. 

"  Here  is  my  story  to  account  for  my 
wanting  the  papers,"  said  the  burglar: 
"  There  was  a  friend  of  mine  who  got  into 
trouble,  and  while  people  were  after  him 
he  slept  here  one  night.  He  was  a  big 
fellow  with  a  little  girl.  He  had  papers 


178 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


about  him  which  he  wanted  to  keep  from 
the  officers.  They  were  in  a  travelling- 
bag,  and  this  was  left  at  your  house  by 
accident.  He  was  afraid  to  come  and 
call  for  the  papers,  so  I  came  to  get 
hold  of  them — not  to  hurt  or  rob  any- 
body." 

"  Your  friend  lives  in  the  mountain,  no 
doubt,"  said  Mr.  Grantham. 

"  Why  in  the  mountain  ?" 

"  And  you  and  your  family  were  burnt 
out  recently,  were  you  not  ?" 

"  My  family—" 

"  I  mean,  that  it  was  you  who  came 
the  other  evening  and  asked  alms  for 
your  family,  who  had  just  had  the  roof 
burnt  over  their  heads.  I  recognize  you 
now — and  shall  I  tell  you  how  I  feel, 
friend  ?  I  feel  ashamed  for  you." 

The  words  seemed  to  produce  some  ef- 
fect upon  the  burglar.  He  did  not  reply, 
but  a  movement  of  the  disguise  on  his 
face  was  evidently  produced  by  a  con- 
traction of  his  brow. 

"Do  you  know  that  you  were  guilty 
of  a  very  unbecoming  action  ?"  said  Mr. 
Grantham.  "  It  is  painful.  You  came  and 
appealed  to  me  in  forma  pauperis,  as  we 
say,  friend  —  to  ask  assistance  for  your 
poor  family,  and  that  family  was  only 
an  imaginary  one.  Your  object  was  to 
deceive  me,  and,  in  return  for  my  kind- 
ness, carry  off  my  property — or  what  was 
intrusted  to  me." 

"I  put  the  bread  and  meat  and  the 
money  on  the  bench  of  the  porch,"  the 
burglar  said,  in  protest. 

"  Yes,  that  is  true ;  but  you  robbed 
me  of  the  clothes  of  my  poor.  That  was 
the  unbecoming  act  I  referred  to.  I  was 
afraid  it  was  you." 

The  burglar  pointed  to  the  corner. 

"There  they  are,"  lie  said. 

And,  in  fact,  there  in  the  corner  wa> 
the  small  travelling  -  bag,  with  the  poor 
children's  clothes,  and  Frances  Gary's  note 
and  tracts. 

Mr.  Grantham  was  obviously  gratified. 

"  I  am  truly  glad  to  see  that  you  have 
brought  the  clothes  back.  They  are  not 
mine ;  they  belong  to  my  poor." 

"  Well,  there  they  are,  Mr.  Grantham. 


It  was  a  mean  act,  but  not  intentional. 
You  see,  I  thought  it  was  the  other  bag." 

"And  you  have  come  for  that  to-night. 
How  did  you  enter?" 

"  It  was  easy.  I  slipped  the  bolt  of 
your  back-door,  which  is  not  exactly  a 
Chubb  lock." 

"  Little  precaution  is  taken  against  in- 
trusion in  a  quiet  place  like  this,  friend. 
I  had  supposed  that  /  needed  no  locks  at 
all.  A  poor  clergyman  I  thought  was 
quite  safe,  at  least,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  I  could  persuade  myself  that  I 
really  heard  a  noise  in  this  room." 

"  Sorry  you  heard  it.  I  tried  not  to 
disturb  you,"  said  the  burglar,  with  a 
short  laugh. 

"  I  scarcely  heard  you,  and  thought  at 
first  it  was  only  my  fancy.  I  was  up 
late,  working,  and  then  read  my  boy's 
letters.  He  is  a  very  good  boy.  You 
have  thrown  the  letters  I  value  so  much 
on  the  floor,  I  see." 

The  burglar  stooped  down  quickly  and 
picked  them  up. 

"I  am  sorry — I  didn't  mean  to  throw 
the  letters  down.  They  fell  out  of  my 
hand." 

Mr.  Grantham  rose  and  took  them  from 
the  man.  In  doing  this  their  hands  touch- 
ed. It  was  as  if  they  had  shaken  hands. 
The  old  pastor's  hand  did  not  retreat 
quickly,  as  if  contaminated  by  that  con- 
tact ;  on  the  contrary,  the  two  hands  re- 
mained touching  each  other  for  about  a 
second.  Mr.  Grantham  then  went  to  the 
drawer,  and,  stooping  down,  placed  the 
bundle  of  letters  in  one  corner,  taking 
care  to  do  so  neatly.  During  this  cere- 
mony his  back  was  turned  to  the  burglar, 
who  was  within  two  paces  of  him.  llo 
was  also  bending  over,  and  nothing  would 
have  been  easier  than  to  strike  him  or 
inaMcr  him.  Of  this,  however,  he  seem- 
ed to  have  no  thought  whatever,  lie 
carefully  arranged  the  letters  in  their 
place,  and,  returning  to  his  arm-chair,  re- 
Miiueil  his  former  attitude,  with  his  elbows 
resting  on  the  arms  and  his  finger -tips 
touching. 

"  It  is  easy  to  see  you  are  not  afraid," 
said  the  burglar.  "  I  might  have  done 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


179 


for  you  just  now,  when  your  back  was 
turned." 

•  "  I  feel  no  apprehensions  of  your  re- 
sorting to  personal  violenee  with  me," 
saiil  Mr.  <  Jrantham. 

"Why  not?  I  came  for  the  papers, 
and  I  may  as  well  tell  you  I  must  have 
them." 

"  The  papers — " 

"That  were  left  in  the  travelling-bag. 
They  belong  to  my  friend — not  to  you. 
They  are  of  no  use  to  you.  I  forced 
your  door,  and  am  committing  burglary, 
I  know,  but  that  hurts  nobody.  Where 
are  the  papers  ?" 

The  speaker  had  raised  his  voice.  It 
had  become  somewhat  threatening.  Mr. 
Grantham  did  not  move. 

"  Why  did  you  not  come  and  ask  for 
them  in  open  day,  my  friend  ?"  he  said, 
calmly.  "It  is  bad  to  break  in  by  the 
back-door  of  a  house  when  you  may  en- 
ter by  the  open  front-door." 

"  I  have  told  you.  How  could  I  know 
that  you  would  give  up  the  papers,  and 
not  have  me  arrested  ?" 

"  So  you  resorted  to  burglary.  Burg- 
lary is  a  great  offence.  Did  you  ever  re- 
flect why  the  law  authorizes  the  killing  of 
a  burglar  ?  It  is  because  the  supposition 
is  that  the  person  committing  that  crime 
is  ready  to  commit  a  greater  one  rather 
than  be  taken  in  the  act — I  mean  mur- 
der." 

"  I  have  no  sort  of  intention  of  mur- 
dering you,  Mr.  Grantham,  but  I  intend 
to  have  the  papers." 

"  No  intention  of  committing  murder  ? 
Perhaps  not.  But  you  come  armed  with 
murderous  weapons." 

"  I  have  not  used  any — yet." 

"You  come  to  a  peaceful  house — the 
home  of  a  minister  of  the  Gospel — and 
force  the  lock  of  his  door,  and  search  his 
drawers  for  his  property,  or  property  left 
in  his  charge ;  and  when  he  makes  his 
appearance  to  discover  who  it  is  that  has 
entered  his  quiet  home,  you  draw  a  knife 
from  your  breast  and  brandish  it  before 
him.  That  is  a  criminal  act,  friend.  You 
are  a  man  like  myself — no  worse,  perhaps 
— in  some  things  a  better  man,  it  may  be. 


Ask  yourself  if  you  have,  not  committed 
a  crime  vJiidi  you  should  be  sorry  for." 
"I  am  n<>t  particularly  sorry,  as  1  am 
doing  you  no  harm — now.  I  \\aiit  tin- 
papers,  Mr.  Grantham.  Where  are  they  '. 
I  mean  to  have  the  whole  lot  before  I 

go." 

"Impossible,"  said  Mr.  (iraiitham. 

"  I  say  give  me  the  papers.  It  will  l»e 
unlucky  for  you  if  you  stand  out  a<rain>t 
me." 

"It  is  impossible  for  me  to  deliver 
them  to  you,  my  friend." 

"  Where  are  they  ?"  exclaimed  the 
burglar,  starting  up  ;  "  what  are  they  to 
you  ?  You  say  it  is  not  possible  to  give 
them  up.  Why  not?  You  are  not  act- 
ing in  bad  faith :  no  fault  can  be  found 
with  you.  They  belong  to  my  friend. 
Where  are  the  papers  ?" 

Mr.  Grantham  slowly  shook  his  head. 

"  Do  you  mean,  or  do  you  not,  to  hand 
them  over?"  exclaimed  the  burglar,  with 
violence.  As  he  spoke  he  drew  his  knife 
and  took  a  step  toward  the  old  pastor. 

Mr.  Grantham  looked  at  him  attentive- 
ly, and  said, 

"  It  is  sorrowful,  very  sorrowful,  friend, 
to  see  a  fellow-creature  act  so  sinfully. 
This  is  a  very  bad  errand.  Do  you  know 
what  such  things  result  in? — the  State- 
prison  or  the  gallows.  Is  that  reasonable 
— is  it  worth  the  risk?  The  sin  is  the 
main  thing — the  crime  in  the  eyes  of  the 
law  of  man  follows  that.  Come,  friend, 
put  up  your  knife.  It  is  quite  useless, 
and  offends  my  eyes." 

The  burglar  advanced  straight  upon 
him  with  the  knife  raised. 

"  The  papers !"  he  exclaimed. 

"  I  have  said  it  is  impossible  for  me  to 
deliver  the  papers  to  you,  my  friend," 
said  Mr.  Grantham,  quietly. 

"Why  is  it?" 

"  I  delivered  them  to  their  owner  more 
than  a  month  ago." 

The  burglar,  who  was  close  to  Mr.  Gran- 
tham, took  a  step  backward,  and  the  hand 
holding  the  knife  fell  at  his  side. 

"  To  the  owner — a  month  ago  ?" 

"  Somewhat  more  than  a  month,  I  be- 
lieve," returned  Mr.  Grantham,  tranquilly. 


180 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"To  the  owner? — the  big  man  who 
brought  the  child  to  your  house  that 
night?" 

"  The  same,  friend.  He  left  the  trav- 
elling-bag by  accident,  it  seems.  My  old 
servant  informed  me  that  he  came  for  it, 
but  I  was  absent.  He  came  again,  how- 
ever, and  of  course  I  delivered  it.  I  had 
not  examined  its  contents." 

The  burglar  remained  standing,  without 
uttering  a  word,  for  a  full  minute.  He 
then  fixed  his  eyes  upon  Mr.  Grantham,  as 
though  aiming  to  read  him  through  and 
through. 

Mr.  Grantham  smiled  a  little,  and  said, 

"  Do  you  doubt  my  statement  ?  If  you 
do,  I  venture  to  say  that  you  are  the  only 
person  in  this  parish  who  would  do  so." 

"  No,  I  do  not  doubt  what  you  say,  at 
all,"  said  the  man,  in  a  voice  of  very  great 
disappointment.  "  The  papers  are  gone, 
I  see  that.  There's  no  use  for  further 
talking.  Good-night,  Mr.  Grantham." 

He  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 
Mr.  Grantham  rose,  and,  taking  up  his 
light,  followed  him. 

"A  cold  night,  friend,"  he  said,  listen- 
ing to  the  shrill  whistle  of  the  wind  ;  "  do 
you  know  what  has  just  come  into  my 
mind?  I  ought  not  to  turn  you  out  in 
such  a  night.  There  is  a  bed  at  your 
service." 

A  gruff  laugh  indicated  that  the  burg- 
lar appreciated  the  humor  of  his  host's 
suggestion. 

"No,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Grantham,"  he 
said.  "  I  might  not  fed  at  my  ease  ex- 
actly at  breakfast  to-morrow  morning." 

"Oh,  do  not  be  alarmed  at  that.  I  am 
an  easy  ><>rt  of  person, and  hear  no  malice." 

"  Kasy  or  not,  you  are  a  brave  man," 
said  the  burglar,  going  toward  the  door  in 
rear  of  tin-  pa-^auv. 

>,"  said    Mr.  Grantham,  laying    his 
hand  upon  his  arm. 

The  man  turned  round  and   lool, 
him  with  quick  suspicion. 

"I  did  not  mean  to  arrest   you,"  Mr. 
Grantham  said,  with  a  smile.      "  FOB 
I  wish  to  forget  our  discussion,  and  only 
meant  to  do  you  a  courtesy.     I  do  not 
regard  you  as  an  ordinary  burglar.     Yoi 


only  came  for  a  few  papers — I  have  not 
asked  you  to  explain  how  it  is  that  the 
owner  of  them  sent  you,  when  he  has 
them  already.  That-is  your  business,  not 
my  own.  Let  it  remain  so,  friend,  and 
do  not  enter  any  more  houses.  Go  home, 
and  go  to  sleep,  unless  you  will  stay  with 
me  to-night  —  you  are  very  welcome. 
When  I  touched  you  I  meant  to  say,  'Do-- 
not go  out  by  the  back-door.'  Here  is 
the  front-door." 

Mr.  Grantham  opened  it,  and  the  burg- 
ar  Avent  out. 

"  Good  -  night,  friend,"  said  Mr.  Gran- 
tham, in  a  friendly  voice ;  "  take  care,  or 
you  will  stumble  ;  it  is  extremely  dark." 

"  I   will   take  care,"  said  the  burglar, 
turning    round    and    looking    into    Mr, 
rantham's   face,  lit   up  by   the   flaring 
candle,  "  and  I  mean  to  take  care  of  an- 
other thing,  too." 

"  Another  thing,  my  friend  ?" 

"  I  never  mean,  So  help  me  Heaven  ! — 
you'll  not  find  fault  with  that  sort  of 
swearing,  Mr.  Grantham — I  never  mean.  I 
say,  to  break  into  a  preacher's  house 
again,  if  I  live  to  be  as  old  as  Mathnselem." 

"Methuselah,  my  friend,"  said  the  pas- 
tor, correcting  him. 

"  It's  all  the  same,  Mr.  Grantham,  and 
you're  a  trump,  or  my  name's  not  R — 

Fortunately  catching  himself,  Mr.  Rug- 
gles  sunk  to  silence  and  so  departed. 


LXI. 


DOVES. 

MR.  LASCELLES  spent  about  an  hour 
with  Miss  Juliet  in  the  drawing-room  at 
Trianon.  Jle  then  rose,  took  his  leave, 
and  went  away  in  an  extremely  had  hu- 
mor. 

Nothing  in  the  demeanor  of  the  y«>ung 
lady  had  put  him  out  of  temper.  She 
was  not  at  all  cold  or  (/isfnilf  during 
their  interview;  on  the  contrary,  she  was 
charming.  She  laughed  a  great  deal  for 
a  person  of  her  quiet  temperament,  and 
\\  a<  unusually  gracious.  Something 
ed  to  have  pleased  her.  This  uas  so 
plain  that  Mr.  Lascelles  referred  to  the 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


181 


subject,  and  asked  if  some  piece  of  good 
fortune  had  not  occurred  to  her?  "  IVr- 
haps,''  Miss  Juliet  had  replied,  with  a  sil- 
very outburst :  but  then  it  was  unneces- 
sary to  g<>  so  far  for  a  reason.  Autumn 
always  charmed  her  and  made  her  happy. 

Juliet  had  actually  followed  Mr.  Las- 
celles  to  the  front-door — an  evidence  of 
unusual  favor.  She  laughed  more  than 
ever  as  she  held  out  her  hand  to  tell  him 
good-bye.  Her  face  was  so  bright,  and 
had  such  an  expression  of  pleasure  in  it, 
that  Mr.  Lascelles  thought  in  a  vague  way 
that  she  was  extremely  pretty,  and  won- 
dered what  had  occurred  to  make  her  so 
gracious  to  him.  She  positively  beamed 
upon  him,  and  seemed  to  have  the  great- 
est difficulty  in  suppressing  a  tendency  to 
laugh,  and  thank  him  for  something.  He 
wondered  at  this  a  little,  but  gave  up  the 
problem  and  went  away. 

There  was  thus  nothing  whatever  in 
his  reception  by  Miss  Juliet  that  irritated 
Mr.  Lascelles.  Nor  had  any  one  else 
frowned  upon  him.  Mrs.  Armstrong  had 
not  made  her  appearance,  but  that  was 
not  unusual.  She  generally  had  some- 
thing to  occupy  her  attention  up-stairs 
when  he  called  to  see  Juliet.  The  source 
of  the  young  gentleman's  bad  humor  was 
the  absence  of  Miss  Bassick  from  their 
place  of  rendezvous  in  the  woods.  Af- 
fairs were  now  well  arranged  between 
them.  When  Mr.  Lascelles  called  at  Tri- 
anon, the  hour  of  his  intended  visit  was 
always  known  in  advance,  in  some  man- 
ner, to  Miss  Bassick.  Just  before  he 
made  his  appearance  she  would  be  seized 
with  a  desire  to  go  and  look  for  ferns  or 
wild  flowers,  or  perhaps  to  collect  cedars 
for  the  vases  in  the  drawing-room  — 
cedars  were  attractive  as  a  background  to 
chrysanthemums  or  their  vagrant  sisters 
of  the  woods  and  fields.  On  these  occa- 
sions Miss  Bassick  generally  went  toward 
Piedmont,  which  was  in  a  direction  near- 
ly opposite  to  Wye ;  but  it  happened  al- 
most uniformly  that  there  were  very  few 
flowers  or  ferns  in  that  quarter,  which  in- 
duced her  to  make  a  circuit,  when  out  of 
sight  of  the  house.  This  naturally  brought 
her  out  on  the  road  to  Wye,  about  half  a 


mile  from  Trianon;  and,  by  a  singular 
coincidence,  she  generally  met  Mr.  LAS- 
celles  at  a  certain  spot,  on  his  return 
homeward. 

This  had  occurred  so  frequently  that 
no  doubt  Mr.  Lascelles  had  contracted  t In- 
habit of  looking  for  the  young  lady. 
When  our  slippers  are  out  of  place  \\.« 
are  aggrieved,  and  feel  that  we  are  the 
victims  of  wrong.  Were  tln-v  not,  in 
that  corner  yesterday,  and  the  day  before 
that,  and  the  day  before  that?  Why 
should  they  not  be  there  to-day  .' 

Mi-s  Bassick  was  also  in  the  habit  of 
incidentally  appearing  in  the  passage  at 
Trianon  when  Mr.  Lascelles  entered  «>r 
retired,  when,  if  not  observed,  they  whis- 
pered a  little.  This  was  when  circum- 
stances prevented  the  young  lady  from 
prosecuting,  at  the  moment,  her  search 
for  wild  flowers.  These  meetings  were 
brief,  but  not  unpleasant ;  they  refresh- 
ed. There  was  even  time,  occasionally, 
for  a  chaste  salute,  and  the  employment 
of  two  pairs  of  arms.  This,  however,  was 
infrequent,  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  the  dan- 
gerous Cinda  being  not  far  off.  The 
place  of  rendezvous  was  a  spot  of  greater 
privacy,  where  rude  and  prying  eyes  did 
not  intrude.  If  the  interchange  of  sweet 
confidences  did  not  occur  in  the  passage 
casually  it  might  occur  at  the  rendezvous. 
Now,  on  this  day  it  had  taken  place  at 
neither  one  place  nor  the  other. 

Miss  Bassick  had  not  made  her  appear- 
ance, and  was  not  at  the  trysting-place. 
Mr.  Lascelles  was  not  aware  that  this  re- 
sulted from  the  scenes  of  the  morning, 
and  that  Miss  Bassick  considered  it  im- 
prudent to  either  show  herself  in  the  es- 
tablishment or  prosecute  her  explorations 
in  search  of  wild  flowers.  He  simply 
contemplated  the  naked  fact,  and  felt 
angry.  What  did  it  mean  ?  Was  he  to 
be  trifled  with  in  that  manner?  II 
would  not  be  trifled  with!  He  cared 
nothing  for  her  absence  any  more  than 
for  her  presence.  After  which  confiden- 
tial statement  to  himself  he  rode  on  with 
an  expression  of  countenance  which  indi- 
cated that  he  cared  a  great  deal. 

In  fact  Mr.  Douglas  Lascelles  was  very 


182 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


much  in  love  indeed  with  Miss  Bassick. 
She  was  precisely  the  person  to  capti- 
vate this  gentleman.  She  was  extremely 
handsome,  in  the  first  place,  but  this  was 
unimportant  in  comparison  with  the  ex- 
pression of  her  eyes.  It  was  Miss  Bas- 
sick's  eyes  which  had  done  the  business 
for  Mr.  Lascelles.  He  had  laughed  at 
them  at  first,  then  had  struggled  against 
them,  but  had  yielded  at  last.  If  he  had 
not  been  so  tough  and  unbirdlike  a  per- 
sonage, one  might  have  thought  of  the 
stories  told  of  snakes  charming  birds. 
That,  however,  was  too  fanciful.  Mr. 
Lascelles  was  not  a  young  bird  and  Miss 
Bassick  wras  not  a  serpent,  although  Mrs. 
Armstrong  applied  that  term  to  her.  She 
was  simply  a  very  seductive  young  creat- 
ure, with  an  uncommonly  fine  pair  of 
eyes,  which  had  fascinated  Mr.  Lascelles. 

As  was  said  above,  he  was  by  this  time 
very  much  in  love  with  the  owner  of  the 
eyes.  She  was  bright,  witty,  and  had  a 
charming  malice,  as  the  French  say,  in 
her  talk  —  not  malice  in  the  English 
meaning,  but  roguery.  She  mimicked 
Mrs.  Armstrong  so  delightfully  that  Mr. 
Lascelles  could  not  restrain  his  laughter 
—  little  as  he  was  given  to  that.  She 
also  made  fun  of  Juliet — imitating  her 
erect  carriage  of  person  with  humorous 
exaggeration.  Her  wit  sparkled  and  cut, 
edged  with  laughter.  She  was  a  "  perfect 
little  devil,"  as  Mr.  Lascelles  often  told 
her :  and  he  added  that  she  had  been  in- 
tended for  a  vaudevilliste  on  the  Parisian 
stage,  not  for  a  staid  "companion"  to  a 
staid  American  lady.  After  which  he 
laughed  heartily. 

Sometimes  Miss  Bassick  was  in  quite  a 
different  mood — variety  being  one  of  her 
chief  attractions.  On  such  occasions  she 
was  deeply  serious,  and  did  the  pathetic 
as  well  as  she  had  done  the  humorous. 
There  was  no  longer  the  brilliant  smile  <>n 
the  ripe  red  lips,  or  any  malicious 
in  the  large,  brilliant  eyes.  The  K.  II. 
lips  grew  mournful,  and  the  L.  B.  eyes 
were  half  closed,  weighed  down  apparent- 
ly by  scarcely  suppressed  tears.  Miss 
Bassick  then  grew  pathetic,  and  spoke  of 
her  wrongs  and  misfortunes.  She  was 


alone  in  the  world,  the  victim  of  a  cruel 
woman,  who  treated  her  with  the  grossest 
insult.  It  had  not  been  so  once.  Her 
family  had  been  one  of  high  social  posi- 
tion, and  she  had  enjoyed  every  luxury — 
her  childhood  had  been  cradled  in  the 
arms  of  a  mother's  love — her  dear  father 
had  lavished  upon  her  all  the  treasures  of 
his  affection.  She  had  thus  begun  her 
life  with  the  brightest  skies  bending 
above  her,  but  the  change  had  swiftly 
come.  Her  dear  father  and  mother  had 
died — the  family  estate  had  been  sold  in 
consequence  of  her  father's  generous  en- 
dorsement for  a  friend  —  she  had  been 
thrown  upon  the  hard  world,  a  poor  flow- 
er, to  breast  the  current  alone ;  and  here 
she  was,  with  her  wounded  heart,  seeking 
some  one  to  cling  to  who  could  feel  for 
her  and  comfort  her. 

When  she  spoke  of  her  lonely  situation 
in  this  manner,  Miss  Bassick  generally 
shed  tears,  and  looked  extremely  hand- 
some and  interesthiff.  As  this  adds  to 

O 

one's  appreciation  and  sympathy,  Mr. 
Lascelles  felt  moved  to  say  that  he  would 
feel  for  and  comfort  her;  and  on  such 
occasions  her  feelings  would  overcome 
Miss  Bassick,  and  she  wrould  hide  her 
blushing  face  and  tearful  eyes  in  the  gen- 
tleman's waistcoat — a  storm-tossed  dove 
seeking  its  place  of  refuge. 

This  allusion  to  waistcoats  may  mis- 
lead. It  must  not  be  supposed  that  Miss 
Bassick  was  -at  all  deficient  in  propriety. 
On  the  contrary,  if  there  was  any  one 
trait  more  fully  developed  in  her  than 
the  rest  it  was  this  latter.  It  was  plain 
that  Miss  Bassick  even  objected  to  hav- 
ing her  hand  kissed,  and  this  unpleasant 
state  of  things  would  not  probably  alter 
unless  they  became  engaged  to  be  mar- 
ried. Engaged  to  be  married  !  Knam- 
•  •iv'l  a>  he  was,  Mr.  Lascelles  drew  l»a«-k 
suddenly.  It  was  an  immense  enjoy- 
ment to  look  into  the  seductive  eyes,  10 
dream  of  fond  words  and  caresses,  but 
— to  tiKii'i'ji  Mi-^  r»a--'u-k  !  There  was 
the  rub.  A  more  unsuitable  match,  in  a 
worldly  point  of  view,  could  not  be  imag- 
ined. She  was  penniless,  an  unknown 
person,  and  as  to  her  family,  and  that 


YIIKJIMA   BOHEMIANS. 


183 


"  high  social  position,"  he  had  only  her 
word  for  that,  and  he  was  not  entirely 
convinced  that  Mi-s  liassick's  word  was 
sufficient.  It  might  possibly  be  true. 
There  were  many  ups  and  downs  in  the 
histories  of  families.  What  was  certain, 
however,  was  that  Miss  Bassick  occupied 
at  present  a  very  humble  position  indeed, 
and,  socially  speaking,  was  a  nobody ! 
People  would  laugh.  It  was  impossible 
to  think  seriously  of  such  a  marriage,  and 
lie  would  not  give  it  a  thought  again. 
After  which  he  proceeded  to  think  about 
it — and  then  to  think  about  it  again — 
and  finally  to  think  about  it  almost  all 
the  time. 

The  result  of  these  reflections  has  been 
seen.  After  a  long  and  uncommonly  in- 
teresting interview,  in  which  the  shrinking 
modesty  and  maiden  sense  of  what  was 
proper  had  been  more  conspicuous  than 
ever  before  in  Miss  Bassick,  Mr.  Lascelles, 
in  the  ardor  of  the  moment,  had  been 
carried  away,  and  had  proposed.  Miss 
Bassick  exhibited  wonder  and  suggested 
difficulties.  The  match  was,  indeed,  not 
to  be  thought  of  for  a  single  moment. 
What  would  his  family  and  friends  say  ? 
She  was  a  poor  companion — a  mere  up- 
per servant;  she  had  absolutely  nothing, 
and  might  be  turned  out  of  Trianon  with- 
out a  roof  over  her  head  whenever  Mrs. 
Armstrong  chose.  Then  there  was  Juliet. 
She  had  evidently  determined  to  marry 
him,  Mr.  Lascelles :  what  would  Juliet  say 
if  he  dared  to  think  of  her,  Miss  Bassick  ? 
Altogether  it  was  quite  impossible.  He 
must  not  urge  her.  If  she  only  consult- 
ed her  own  heart — she  was  p-poor  and 
f -friendless,  and  his  affection  had  touch- 
ed her — -deeply.  She  f-felt — as  if  she 
really  could — return  it — and  be — be — 
his;  but,  no  —  she  could  not  consent  to 
t-t-take  advantage  of — 

Here  Miss  Bassick  broke  down,  sobbed, 
and  looked  so  extremely  fascinating  that 
Mr.  Lascelles  burst  into  perfectly  sincere 
protestations,  and  finally  induced  the 
young  lady,  whose  head  had  sunk  upon 
his  shoulder,  to  promise  to  take  the  ad- 
vantage of  him  alluded  to  —  that  is,  to 
become  Mrs.  Don  Mas  Lascelles. 


It  was  only  then  that  the  waistcoat  of 
Mr.  Lascelles  became  Miss  r»;is>i.-k's  ha- 
bitual place  of  ivfu 

As  Mr.  Lascelles  rode  past  the  try>ting- 
placc,  on  his  way  back  to  \V\  e,  he  glanced 
moodily  in  the  direction  of  the  sjx.t.  He- 
was  both  angry  and  depressed,  and  «-a>ed 
his  mind  by  uttering  very  improper  ex- 
pressions. He  then  set  spurs  to  hi-  II-.I-M- 
and  rode  on  rapidly,  meditating  upon  a 
much  more  serious  subject  —  the  burg- 
lary. It  was  to  take  place  that  very 
night.  What  would  be  the  result  of 
such  a  daring  and  dangerous  attempt? 
Why  had  he  authorized  Mr.  Kuggles  to 
undertake  it  ?  He  must  have  been  mad  ! 
It  was  frightful  to  think  what  might  ensue. 

He  was  passing  near  the  Wye  quarters 
at  the  moment,  and  saw  a  group  of  negroes 
in  front  of  one  of  the  cabins.  A  strap- 
ping freedman,  who  did  not  look  at  all 
"  down-trodden,"  was  leaning  back  on  an 
old  chair,  with  his  bare  feet  emerging 
from  his  ragged  pantaloons,  and  holding 
a  banjo  in  his  hand  on  which  he  was 
playing.  The  merry  rattle  of  the  banjo 
filled  the  crowd  with  delight,  and  some 
children,  nearly  naked,  were  dancing  up- 
roariously to  the  music. 

"  Haw  !  haw !  darkeys, 
Don't  you  go  'way ! 
Walk  into  my  parlor — 

Don't  you  hear  de  banjo  play  ?" 

The  grinning  musician  shouted  his  dit- 
ty, and  the  crowd  burst  into  laughter. 
Mr.  Lascelles  wheeled  his  horse,  to  avoid 
passing  near  these  ignorant  creatures; 
their  empty  and  vulgar  mirth  was  dis- 
agreeable to  him. 


LXII. 

THE    BANK-NOTES. 

THE  little  family  at  Wye  were  assem- 
bled in  the  library  on  the  same  evening, 
after  tea,  and  each  pursued  his  or  her  fa- 
vorite occupation.  The  general  was  read- 
ing the  last  magazine,  Mrs.  Lascelles  sat 
opposite  to  him,  knitting  a  stocking,  and 
Anna  Gray  was  absorbed  in  a  letter  which 


184 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


had  just  been  brought  in  the  mail-bag. 
Mr.  Lascelles  was  smoking  his  cigar  in  an 
easy-chair,  at  one  corner  of  the  fire,  and 
was  the  picture  of  tranquil  enjoyment. 

After  some  moments  of  silence  Mrs. 
Lascelles  said  to  Anna, 

"  Who  is  your  letter  from,  my  dear?" 

"  From  Ellis,  aunty,"  said  the  young 
lady,  quietly. 

"  I  hope  he  is  well." 

"  Very  well,  and  he  says  he  will  soon 
be  back.  lie  sends  his  love." 

Miss  Anna  Gray  then  folded  up  her 
letter  and  put  it  in  her  pocket.  Mrs. 
Lascelles  continued  to  knit  at  her  stock- 
ing, and  said, 

"  I  am  very  fond  of  Ellis ;  he  is  so  very 
frank  and  sincere.  I  am  afraid  all  young 
men  are  not.  They  do  wrong,  and  then 
very  naturally  attempt  to  conceal  what 
they  have  done,  but  seldom  succeed  in 
doing  so." 

Mr.  Lascelles  moved  slightly  in  his 
chair,  as  if  his  position  was  cramped,  and 
he  wished  to  change  it.  The  general,  ab- 
sorbed in  his  paper,  said, 

"  The  troops  are  really  coming  to  look 
for  the  moonshine  people.  I  am  afraid 
there  will  be  trouble." 

"  I  do  hope  they  will  not  fight,  my 
dear." 

"The  moonshiners?  I  don't  know. 
There  are  some  very  determined  men 
among  them,  and  many  of  them  are  old 
soldiers." 

"  You  seem  to  know  them." 

"  Oh  yes ;  I  know  a  great  many  of 
them.  I  used  to  electioneer  in  Bohemia 
when  I  ran  for  Congress,  and  they  all 
know  me  very  well.  There  are  some 
new-comers,  I  am  informed  —  a  party  of 
tramps — at  the  Crow's  Nest  house." 

The  general  made  a  slight  pause,  and 
then  added, 

"  The  marshal  told  me  about  these 
people,  after  his  visit  to  them,  lie  was 
much  struck  with  them.  One  of  them  is 
an  old  man,  apparently  weak  in  his  mind, 
and  another  a  big  powerful  fellow,  of  for- 
eign appearance.  How  they  drifted  here 
it  is  difficult  to  say.  I  should  like  to 
visit  them." 


"Visit  them,  my  dear?"  said  Mrs.  Las- 
celles. "  I  hope  you  will  not.  That  des- 
perate class  of  people  are  often  danger- 
ous." 

"Dangerous?  Do  you  think  they 
would  see  anything  in  a  plain  old  gentle- 
man like  myself  to  excite  their  suspicion 
or  ill-will  ?"  said  the  general,  with  a  smile. 
"A  politician  learns  a  great  deal  about 
human  nature,  my  dear,  and  how  to  deal 
with  it.  If  I  were  thrown  with  this  big 
fellow,  who  is  known  as  the  Lefthander,  I 
hear — no  doubt  a  nickname — I  am  sure 
we  should  become  good  friends  in  half  an 
hour." 

"  I  hope  you  will  not  be." 

"  Well,  I  am  not  very  sure  that  I  should 
not  like  to  see  him.  The  marshal  really 
excited  my  curiosity.  I  have  often  been 
interested  in  listening  to  stories  of  ad- 
venture from  nondescript  characters — 
they  show  you  life  on  the  rough  side, 
which  is  different  from  the  side  seen  by 
people  of  good  society,  as  it  is  called. 
This  Lefthander  must  have  seen  a  good 
deal  of  life  of  all  sorts.  I  think  I'll  go 
and  visit  my  friends  the  moonshiners  and 
talk  with  him,  and  induce  him  to  tell  me 
all  about  himself  and  his  history." 

Mr.  Lascelles,  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 
continued  to  smoke.  The  fire  seemed  to 
have  flushed  his  face  slightly — there  was 
a  red  spot  in  each  of  his  cheeks. 

"  You  soon  make  friends  with  people 
if  you  take  interest  in  them  and  their 
views  and  pursuits,"  added  the  philosoph- 
ic general.  "Did  you  observe,  when  Mr. 
(J  rant  ham  "was  here  this  morning,  that  I 
touched  on  Ritualism  and  defended  the 
poor  Tractarians?  That  aroused  and  in- 
terested the  worthy  man,  who  became  an- 
imated at  once !" 

Mix  Lascelles   smiled   and  shook   her 

"  You  must  not  amuse  yourself,  my 
dear,  at  that  good  man's  expense,"  she 
said;  "and  I  was  quite  shocked  t«>  hear 
you  speak  approvingly  of  Ritualism. 
But  I  am  sure  he  saw  that  YOU  \\ere  jest- 
iirj.',  as  he  stopped  arguing  with  y<>u  and 
laughed.  What  a  singular  loss  that  was 
of  his  black  carpet-bag." 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


186 


Mr.  Laseelles  turned  his  head  a  little 
and  listened  with  attention. 

k'  Who  could  have  robbed  a  parsonage  .'" 
the  lady  continued.  "And  their  \vas 
nothing  in  the  hag,  Mr.  ( irantham  says, 
but  a  bundle  of  children's  clothes,  made 
by  Franci-s  ( 1ary,  and  some  tracts.  ll<>w 
very  strange  it  was  that  these  were  stolen 
in  our  honest  little  community." 

"Possibly  Mr.  Grantham  mislaid  them 
—he  is  very  absent-minded,"  said  the 
general. 

"  I  fear,  from  what  he  said,  that  some 
one  stole  them." 

"  \Vell,  at  all  events,  it  is  as  well  that 
Mr.  Grantham  was  absent,  my  dear,"  said 
General  Lascelles.  "He  is  a  very  mild 
man,  but  as  cool  and  resolute  as  any  one 
I  know.  I  should  not  like  to  be  the 
thief  or  burglar  who  entered  his  house  to 
commit  a  robbery." 

Mr.  Lascelles  threw  his  cigar  into  the 
fire  and  unfolded  a  newspaper,  in  which 
he  seemed  soon  to  be  absorbed.  At  last 
he  yawned,  rose,  said  that  riding  in  the 
wind  had  made  him  sleepy,  and  went  to 
his  chamber.  Having  reached  that  place 
of  refuge,  he  fell  into  reflection,  and  then, 
toward  midnight,  retired  to  bed. 

During  the  whole  of  the  next  day  Mr. 
Lascelles  remained  at  home  in  an  ex- 
tremely moody  condition  of  mind.  In 
the  evening  he  again  retired  at  an  early 
hour,  and  was  in  bed  before  ten.  It  was 
perhaps  in  consequence  of  this  that  he 
lay  awake  for  a  long  time,  as  nothing  less 
disposes  to  slumber  than  anticipating  our 
habitual  hour  for  retiring.  Indeed,  he 
did  not  go  to  sleep  until  nearly  daybreak 
— he  was  thinking  about  things.  Mr. 
Ruggles  was  probably  at  that  moment  ex- 
ploring the  recesses  of  Mr.  Grantham's 
secretary. 

Mr.  Lascelles  slept  for  about  an  hour 
only.  He  then  awoke,  and,  getting  out 
of  bed,  went  and  looked  at  his  watch  by 
the  glimmer  of  the  expiring  fire.  This 
examination  seemed  to  be  satisfactory. 
He  lit  his  lamp,  proceeded  to  dress,  and 
having  put  on  his  riding-boots,  went  quiet- 
ly down-stairs.  In  the  hall,  which  was 
dimly  illumined  by  the  first  light  of  day, 


he  put  on  his  hat,  and  found  his  riding- 
whip,  which  In-  pr.-f.-m-d  t«»  spurs.  lie 
then  left  the  hou-r  by  tin-  door  in  ivar  i,f 
the  passage,  which  he  unlocked  for  tin- 
purpose,  lie  to,.k  every  prec.-uitioii  in 
doing  so,  but  the  bolt  grated,  and  the 
sound  rung  out  like  a  trumpet  in  his  ears 
in  the  profound  silence.  He  stopped 
ami  listened.  The  IIOUM-  *U  to  -till  that 
he  could  hear  his  own  breathing,  It  \\.is 

•""* 

apparent  that  its  inmates  were  sound 
asleep,  and  Mr.  Lascelles  mentally  laughed 
at  himself  for  supposing  that  the  sound, 
even  if  it  had  been  heard,  would  have 
startled  anybody.  It  would  have  been 
attributed  at  once  to  a  servant  opening 
the  house. 

He  went  out  in  the  chill  dusk  of  morn- 
ing, with  the  glimmer  of  daybreak  to 
light  him,  and  proceeded  to  the  stables. 
These  were  very  large,  and  for  the  most 
part  quite  still ;  the  horses  were  probably 
sleeping,  as  horses  will  toward  davbivak. 
Here  and  there  they  were  stamping  their 
feet  and  rattling  their  halters,  meaning 
that  corn  had  occurred  to  them.  Mr. 
Lascelles  went  to  a  stable  detached  from 
the  rest,  opened  it  with  a  key  which  he 
took  from  his  pocket,  and,  going  in,  sad- 
dled his  favorite  horse  himself  and  led 
him  out.  Having  first  looked  around,  he 
then  mounted  and  rode  quietly  into  a 
clump  of  woods  adjoining  the  grounds. 
Once  in  the  wroods,  he  touched  his  horse 
with  his  whip  and  set  out  at  a  gallop. 

The  object  of  this  early  ride  was  to 
meet  Mr.  Ruggles  at  sunrise,  at  a  spot 
agreed  upon  some  miles  from  Wye.  The 
nearer  rendezvous  was  unsafe.  They 
might  be  seen,  and  Mr.  Lascelles  particu- 
larly desired  not  to  be  seen  on  this  spe- 
cial occasion. 

As  he  went  on  at  a  rapid  gallop  he  soon 
reached  the  spot — a  highly  desirable  lo- 
cality, as  it  was  a  little  dell  hemmed  in 
by  woods — and  there,  with  the  first  rays 
of  sunrise  illuminating  his  figure,  w;i>  Mr. 
Ruggles  waiting  for  him. 

Mr.  Lascelles  rode  straight  to  him,  and 
throwing  himself  from  his  horse,  slipped 
the  reins  over  the  animal's  head,  and  con- 
fronted Mr.  Ruggles. 


186 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"  You  have  the  papers,  I  suppose  ?"  he 
said. 

"No,  I've  not  got  them,"  said  Mr. 
Ruggles,  in  a  business-like  tone. 

Mr.  Lascelles  shut  his  eyebrows  down, 
and  closed  the  hand  holding  the  bridle- 
rein  so  tightly  that  the  nails  dug  into  the 
palm. 

"  AVhy  ?  Explain  it  to  me.  Did  you 
get  into  the  house,  or  were  you  only 
boasting  when  you  said  you  could  do  so 
without  difficulty  ?" 

"  I  don't  remember  any  boasting,  Mr. 
Lascelles,"  said  Mr.  Ruggles,  in  a  cool 
tone. 

"You  boasted  enough  about  it,"  said 
Mr.  Lascelles,  losing  his  temper  and  frown- 
ing, under  the  effect  of  his  huge  disap- 
pointment and  early  rising  after  a  nearly 
sleepless  night. 

Now,  nothing  irritates  people  like  see- 
ing people  who  are  irritated.  Expres- 
sions of  face  are  contagious.  You  smile 
back  at  the  smiling  face,  and  scowl  at  the 
scowlcr,  or,  at  least,  you  feel  disposed  to 
do  so.  Thus  the  displeasure  of  Mr.  Las- 
celles highly  displeased  Mr.  Ruggles,  who 
was  himself  greatly  disappointed. 

"Look  here,  Mr.  Lascelles,"  said  Mr. 
Ruggles,  with  dignity,  "  a  man  don't  like 
to  be  talked  to  in  that  way." 

"  AY  hat  you  like  or  dislike  is  a  matter 
of  indifference  to  me,"  said  Mr.  Lascelles, 
"  and  I  have  no  time  or  desire  to  be  trifled 
with.  What  happened  f" 

"This  is  what  happened,"  responded 
Mr.  Ruggles,  with  severe  brevity  of  utter- 
ance. "I  got  in  the  house  —  there  was 
no  trouble  about  that.  I  told  you  so — I 
didn't  boast  about  it.  I  found  the  secre- 
tary and  searched  it.  Nothing  there." 

"  Searched  it  thoroughly  ?  —  every 
drawer  ? — everywhere  ?" 

These  questions  came  one  by  one,  jerk- 
ed, as  it  were,  from  Mr.  Lascclles's  lips. 

"No." 

"  What  d<>  you  mean?" 

"  I  mean  I  would  have  searched  through 
it,  but  I  stopped  to  talk  with  the  owner 
of  the  piece  of  furniture." 

"AYith  Mr.  Crantham!'' 

"  The  same." 


"Are  you  trifling  with  me?  You 
stopped  to  talk  with  Mr.  Grantham  T"1 

"  It  looked  like  it.  He  came  in  and 
sat  down,  and  I  took  a  seat  too.  It 
might  have  been  his  ghost,  but  I  rather 
think  it  was  the  man  himself." 

Mr.  Ruggles  was  growing  sarcastic. 

"  AYhat  the  devil  does  all  this  mean  ?" 
exclaimed  Mr.  Lascelles,  in  great  irritation 
and  bewilderment.  "  Are  you  telling  me 
a  cock-and-bull  story  for  your  amuse- 
ment ?" 

"  Not  as  I'm  aware  of,"  said  Mr.  Rug- 
gles, with  indifference.  Indeed,  his  cool- 
ness amounted  decidedly  to  disrespect. 

"  Tell  me  in  plain  words  what  happen- 
ed, and  stop  all  this  tomfoolery,"  observed 
Mr.  Lascelles,  growing  quite  angry,  but 
speaking  coolly.  "  You  say  you  entered 
the  house  and  searched  the  secretary,  but 
not  thoroughly,  in  consequence  of  being 
surprised  by  Mr.  Grantham — do  you  mean 
to  say  that  ?" 

"  I  do,  em  -  phatically,"  said  Mr.  Rug- 
gles. "  I  never  was  more  surprised  in  in  v 
life." 

As  Mr.  Lascelles  seemed  to  be  rendered 
speechless  for  the  moment  by  the  an- 
nouncement, Mr.  Ruggles  availed  himself 
of  the  fact,  and  related  all  that  had  hap- 
pened. 

"  So  you  see  the  whole  affair's  at  an 
end,"  he  said,  in  conclusion.  "The  Left- 
hander has  got  your  papers  safely  stowed 
away  somewhere,  and,  as  I'd  rather  not 
fool  with  him  again,  I  may  as  well  say  I 
am  going  back  to  New  York." 

Mr.  Lascelles,  with  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
ground,  was  reflecting,  with  evident  dis- 
gust and  disappointment,  upon  all  that  he 
had  heard. 

"  I  can't  see  my  way  to  serve  you  fur- 
ther in  any  way,  Mr.  Lascelles,"  said  Mr. 
Jingles;  "and  as  I  think  I'll  take  the 
night  train  north,  I'd  be  glad  to  arrange 
our  little  business  matt. 

"You  mean  your  pay  C  said  Mr.  Las- 
eelles,  suddenly  raising  his  head. 

"Exactly,  Mr.  Lascelles.  There  was 
no  special  bargain  as  to  what  I  was  to 
have  if  I  couldn't  lay  my  hands  on  your 
papers;  but  I've  done  my  best,  and 


VIRGINIA    IJOIII-MIANS. 


187 


nearly  got  my  neck  broken  by  that  big 
fellow  in  tin*  mountain  —  besides,  l'\e 
committed  burglary,  which  is  risky — ami 
all  that  is  worth  considerable." 

M  \Yhtit  do  you  suppose  it  is  worth  to 
me?" 

"Well,  not  much,  maybe  —  but  I'm 
talking  about  myself.  I  think  I've  earn- 
ed at  least  eight  hundred  of  the  thousand, 
.to  say  the  least/' 

"Eight  hundred!  You  are  crazy.  Do 
you  suppose  1  am  made  of  money  ?" 

"  You  offered  a  cool  thousand,  and 
maybe  more,  if  you  got  your  documents." 

"  Well,  where  are  they  ?  I  am  no 
nearer  getting  hold  of  them  than  the  day 
you  came.  It  was  throwing  away  time 
to  send  for  you.  I  thought  you  were  a 
Detective" 

This  greatly  enraged  Mr.  Ruggles,  and 
he  could  not  suppress  a  frown. 

"  Well,  if  you  are  going  to  insult  me, 
and  refuse  to  pay  me,  after  sending  for 
me,  Mr.  Lascelles,  you  can !"  lie  replied, 
angrily. 

"  \Yhat  do  you  mean  ?"  said  Mr.  Las- 
celles, with  an  ominous  shutting  down  of 
his  eyebrows ;  "  do  you  mean  to  hint  that 
I  am  acting  unfairly  ?  Here's  your  mon- 
ey, and  more  than  you  deserve." 

lie  took  out  his  pocket-book  and  de- 
tached five  one-hundred-dollar  bank-notes 
from  a  bundle  which  it  contained,  and 
handed  them  to  Mr.  Ruggles,  who  took 
them,,  looked  at  them  one  by  one,  folded 
them  up,  and  placed  them  in  his  waist- 
coat pocket. 

"  Well,  when  an  honest  man  can't  get 
his  full  pay,"  he  said,  evidently  much  dis- 
satisfied, "  the  best  thing  is  to  take  what 
he  can  get." 

"  What  do  you  say  ?" 

"  I  thought  I  was  dealing  with  a  gen- 
tleman— "  Mr.  Ruggles  paused  after  the 
word  for  an  instant  —  "who  would  not 
beat  down  a  poor  fellow  in  this  way." 

Mr.  Lascelles  had  flushed  suddenly. 
The  pause  after  the  word  "  gentleman " 
had  produced  a  disagreeable  effect.  In 
fact,  it  had  enraged  him. 

"  If  you  mean  that  I  promised  you 
more,  you  lie,"  lie  said,  looking  straight 


at  Mr.  Rubles.  "1  thought  YOU  knew 
your  businos,  aii<l  could  be  counted  on. 
You  are  a  mere  givenh«.rn,  ami  have  \<.iir 
lie  ready — I  doubt  if  you  ever  entered 
that  house  at  all  or  made  the  s.-aivli." 

Mr.  Ruggles  could  stand  much  in  the 
way  of  business,  but  he  could  not  stand 
the  imputation  on  his  professional  charac- 
ter, and  to  have  the  term  "lie"  aj. plied 
to  his  statements. 

"You'd  better  not  repeat  that,"  he  ob- 
served, with  a  flash  of  the  eye. 

"You  are  a  liar!"  responded  Mr.  Las- 
celles, promptly. 

"And  you're  a  fraud!"  exclaimed  Mr. 
Ruggles,  yielding  to  ra^e. 

As  he  uttered  the  words  Mr.  Lascelles 
struck  him  in  the  face  with  his  small 
whip — a  sharp,  telling  lash,  which  left  a 
long  red  mark  on  his  cheek.  Thereat 
Mr.  Ruggles,  driven  to  fury,  drew  his 
bowie-knife,  and  was  apparently  about  to 
do  something  dreadful,  when  he  suddenly 
changed  his  mind.  Mr.  Lascelles  had  put 
his  hand  under  his  coat  behind  and  pro- 
duced a  small  but  dangerous-looking  pis- 
tol of  the  Derringer  pattern,  which  he 
cocked  with  the  rapidity  of  long  practice 
and  placed  upon  Mr.  Ruggles' s  breast. 

This  was  evidently  unpleasant  to  Mr. 
Ruggles.  He  was  in  a  rage,  but  not  too 
much  so  to  lose  sight  of  his  personal 
safety.  He  retreated,  moving  his  body 
quickly  to  one  side,  to  get  out  of  range  of 
the  muzzle  of  the  Derringer. 

Mr.  Lascelles  looked  at  him  for  a  few 
seconds  in  silence.  He  then  quietly  un- 
cocked his  pistol  and  restored  it  to  his 
pocket. 

"There's  no  fight  in  you,"  he  said, 
coolly. 

He  took  out  his  pocket-book,  extracted 
an  additional  bank-note  from  it  and  tots- 
ed  it  toward  Mr.  Ruggles;  after  which  ho 
mounted  his  horse  with  great  deliberation 
and  rode  off  in  the  direction  of  AVye. 
He  did  not  even  turn  his  head.  If  he 
had  done  so  he  would  have  seen  Mr.  Rug- 
gles restore  the  bowie-knife  to  his  breast 
pocket  and  pick  up  the  bank  note.  What- 
ever course  Mr.  Rooney  Ruggles  meant  to 
pursue  in  consequence  of  this  unpleasant 


188 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


scene,  it  was  obvious  that  lie  considered 
that  business  was  business,  and  hundred- 
dollar  bank-notes  were  hundred  -  dollar 
bank-notes. 


LXIII. 

IN    THE    TRIANON    WOODS. 

IT  is  a  very  imprudent  thing  to  tread 
on  people,  however  humble  they  may  be, 
and  very  injudicious  to  strike  them  with 
riding- whips;  they  will  probably  strike 
back  in  some  way,  at  some  time  or  other. 
Mr.  Ruggles  intended  to  strike  back  if  he 
could,  and,  reflecting  maturely  upon  the 
subject,  thought  he  would  be  able  to  do 
so.  lie  and  Mr.  Lascelles  were  not  done 
with  each  other,  he  said  to  himself,  with 
a  malignant  expression  of  countenance; 
and  conscious  of  the  possession  of  bank- 
notes, and  a  few  days  of  leisure,  he  re- 
solved to  gratify,  if  possible,  his  personal 
feelings  before  his  return  to  New  York. 

He  had  been  lodging  at  the  cabin  of  a 
poor  man  in  the  vicinity  of  the  railway 
station.  He  now  moved  to  the  Piedmont 
tavern,  where  he  took  a  room,  and  on  the 
next  day  set  out  in  his  neat  citizen's  dress 
to  call  on  the  Lefthander. 

They  had  a  long  conversation,  in  which 
Mr.  Ruggles,  giving  way  unintentionally 
to  anger,  related  all  that  had  occurred  be- 
tween himself  and  Mr.  Lascelles,  and  made 
no  secret  of  his  intention  to  "get  even 
with  him."  The  trouble,  he  said,  was  to 
discover  the  means  of  doing  so.  It  was 
true  that  Mr.  Lascelles  gambled  frightful- 
ly at  the  residence  of  one  of  his  friends 
in  the  neighborhood,  but  very  little  could 
be  made  of  that.  There  was  something 
more  promising  in  another  direction,  how- 
ever— he  was  engagrd  to  be  married  t«> 
a  Miss  Armstrong,  who  lived  near  Pied- 
mont; and  if  there  was  any  reason  \\h\- 
Mieh  a  marriage  might  not  to  take  place, 
it  was  the  duty  of  honest  people,  who 
aware  of  Mieh  reasons,  to  inform  the 
lady  of  them. 

Mr.  Rugbies  looked  at  the  Lefthander. 
He  was  smoking,  and  made  no  reply. 

There  might  or  might  not  be  an  obsta- 


cle to  the  gentleman's  marriage,  continued 
Mr.  Ruggles.  Such  obstacles  often  exist- 
ed, and  were  yet  disregarded.  You  had 
only  to  read  the  newspapers  to  see  what 
a  queer  world  we  live  in.  Men  who  bore 
irreproachable  reputations  often  married 
when  they  had  wives  living,  or  had  forged, 
or  committed  crimes  which,  if  known, 
would  utterly  destroy  their  position  in 
society,  perhaps  subject  them  to  a  crimi- 
nal prosecution.  Now,  if  such  were  the 
fact  in  the  case  of  Mr.  Lascelles,  and  if 
documentary  evidence  on  the  subject  were 
in  existence,  it  was  the  bounden  duty  of 
honest  men  to  expose  the  whole  affair, 
and  not  permit  a  young  lady  to  marry  a 
bigamist,  a  forger,  or  perhaps  a  murderer. 

Mr.  Ruggles  then  looked  again  at  the 
Lefthander;  but  his  face  was  as  serene 
as  before. 

"  You  know  what  I  mean,"  said  Mr. 
Ruggles,  coming  to  the  point. 

"  Yes,  I  know  what  you  mean." 

"  The  papers  in  the  travelling-bag." 

The  Lefthander  made  no  rcplv. 

"You  think  this  is  only  another  trick 
— this  story  about  the  quarrel  and  the  cut 
with  the  whip" — exclaimed  Mr.  Ruggles. 
"  and  you  are  right  to  be  on  your  guard ; 
but  I  swear  it's  true." 

"  I  rather  think  it  is,"  the  Lefthander 
said;  "but  I  have  nothing  to  say  on  the 
subject  of  the  papers  you  mention — at 
present." 

lie  spoke  moodily,  and  seemed  to  be 
reflecting.  Something  evidently  troubled 
him.  Mr.  Ruggles  made  another  attempt 
to  draw  him  out,  but  again  failed  ;  and  as 
Gentleman  Joe  came  in  at  the  moment, 
the  conversation  ended,  and  he  took  his 
departure. 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  same  day  Mr. 
Kuggles  walked  out  of  Piedmont,  and 
went  in  tin-  direction  of  Trianon.  The 
road  which  he  followed  intersected  that 
leading  from  Wye  to  Trianon,  about  a 
mile  from  the  latter  place,  and  Mr.  Rug- 
u;les  had  just  reached  the  point  of  cross- 
ing when  lie  observed  a  horseman  ap- 
proaching from  the  direction  of  Wye. 
A  single  glance  showed  him  that  the 
horseman  was  Mr.  Lascelles,  and  as  he 


VIRGINIA  BOIIKMIAN-. 


189 


had  no  desire  to  hold  another  interview 
with  that  gentleman,  he  concealed  himself 
in  some  bushes. 

Mr.  Lascelles  passed  at  a  gallop.  !!«• 
had  evidently  not  seen  Mr.  Rubles.  In 
a  few  moments  lie  was  out  of  sight,  and 
Mr.  Ruggles  cautiously  followed  in  the 
same  direction. 

The  sun  was  sinking  toward  the  sum- 
mit of  the  woods  when  Mr.  Lascelles  rode 
into  the  grounds  of  Trianon.  He  dis- 
mounted, threw  his  bridle  over  the  rack, 
and  entered  the  house.  As  he  did  so  a 
figure  flitted  up  the  staircase,  making  him 
a  coquettish  sign  accompanied  by  a  smile. 
This  was  Miss  Bassick,  who  was  lost  to 
view  a  moment  afterward. 

Mr.  Lascelles  knocked  and  the  sable 
Cinda  appeared,  with  a  polite  grin  on 
her  features.  Missus  Armstrong  was  at 
home,  but  Miss  Juliet,  she  had  a  head- 
ache :  and  Mrs.  Armstrong,  having  made 
her  appearance  in  the  drawing-room  in 
due  time,  confirmed  this  statement.  Ju- 
liet had  been  suffering  from  a  headache 
all  day — would  Mr.  Lascelles  excuse  her  ? 
Then  the  conversation  proceeded.  It  was 
not  a  very  cordial  interview.  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong did  not  like  scenes,  but  there  was 
the  blessed  resource  of  hauteur.  You 
can  show  people  what  you  think  of  them, 
fortunately,  without  telling  them,  which 
is  a  comfort;  and  Mrs.  Armstrong,  with- 
out uttering  a  word  on  the  subject  which 
occupied  the  minds  of  both,  quite  froze 
her  visitor. 

Under  such  circumstances  visits  are  not 
prolonged.  Mr.  Lascelles  smiled  sweetly, 
lamented  Miss  Juliet's  headache,  hoped  it 
would  soon  disappear,  and  made  a  low  bow, 
after  which  he  took  his  departure  and 
rode  away.  As  he  turned  his  back  on  the 
house,  his  expression  suddenly  changed. 

"  She  has  found  out  everything,"  he 
said,  "  and  that  headache  has  already  left 
the  sweet  Juliet,  probably.  Who  could 
have  told  her  ? — the  devil  J" 

After  this  succinct  but  comprehensive 
expression  of  his  surprise  and  dissatisfac- 
tion, Mr.  Lascelles  rode  on  rapidly,  and 
about  sunset  reached  the  spot  where  he 
was  accustomed  to  meet  Miss  Bassick. 


He  was  Mire  lie  should  find  her  there. 
As  sin-  flitted  up  the  staircase  she  had 
made  him  a  peculiar  sign,  which  signified 
that,  she  \\as  ^-oiiig  to  disappear  from 

Trianon  by  the  hark  ittircaae,  go  in 
search  of  flowers,  and  in  all  probability 
would  not  be  far  distant  when  he 
on  his  way  to  "NY ye. 

It  said  a  great  deal  for  Mi-s 
punctuality  and  reliability  that  he  \\as 
not  disappointed.  There  she  wa^  at  the 
trysting-place,  with  her  little  basket  full 
of  red  berries,  and  her  handsome  face 
glowing  with  the  roses  of  healthy  exer- 
cise, and  perhaps  of  anticipation.  Can 
we  blame  her?  Is  it  not  natural  that  the 
innocent  heart  of  a  maiden  should  throb 
at  the  approach  of  her  dear  one?  She 
was  exceedingly  handsome  as  she  stood 
leaning  against  the  trunk  of  an  oak ;  and 
it  is  not  to  be  wondered  at  that  Mr.  Las- 
celles, a  few  moments  afterward,  relieved 
the  oak-tree  of  the  trouble  of  sustaining 
her. 

The  conversation  which  ensued  was  not 
particularly  interesting:  such  conversa- 
tions rarely  are.  There  were  reproaches, 
explanations,  blandishments,  and  so  forth. 
It  was  a  strictly  private  interview,  and 
therefore  ought  not  to  be  made  public. 
The  denouement  alone  is  necessary  to  a 
comprehension  of  the  narrative. 

Mr.  Lascelles  was  seated  on  a  mossy 
rock  with  his  arm  around  Miss  Bassick, 
and  her  head  leaning  on  his  shoulder, 
when  Miss  Juliet  Armstrong  came  out  of 
the  woods,  from  behind  some  evergreens, 
within  about  ten  paces  of  them.  This 
vexatious  incident  occurred  in  the  simplest 
manner.  The  young  lady  had  really  been 
suffering  from  a  headache  all  day,  but  to- 
ward sunset  had  come  quietly  down-stairs 
and  set  out  to  take  a  walk,  without  the 
knowledge  of  her  mother  or  Miss  Bassick. 

O 

Finding  the  evening  mild,  she  had  gone 
wandering  through  the  woods,  and  was 
now  returning  home,  when,  unfortunately, 
she  stumbled  upon  the  young  people. 

No  sooner  had  Juliet  caught  sight  of 
them  than  she  attempted  to  retreat  un- 
discovered; but  that  was  impossible. 
They  had  both  looked  round,  and  their 


190 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


glances  met.  Miss  Bassick  was  so  much 
startled  that  she  remained  motionless  with 
the  arm  of  Mr.  Lascelles  still  around  her, 
and  a  deep  flush  upon  her  face;  then 
she  suddenly  retreated  from  him. 

As  to  Juliet,  she  was  standing  still,  col- 
oring a  little  and  smiling.  There  was  ab- 
solutely nothing  to  do  but  to  accost  them, 
and  she  said, 

"  I  have  been  walking — what  a  pleas- 
ant evening,  Mr.  Lascelles." 

"  Very  pleasant,"  stammered  Mr.  Las- 
celles, who  had  risen. 

"And  the  woods  are  full  of  flowers,  in 
spite  of  the  lateness  of  the  season.  I 
have  found  a  quantity  of  autumn  prim- 
roses and  this  pretty  little  star  of  Bethle- 
hem— have  you  ever  noticed  it  ?" 

She  came  forward  quietly  and  held  up 
her  nosegay  with  a  smile  on  her  lips. 

"You  admire  flowers,  Miss  Bassick," 
she  added,  "  and  you  will  find  every  pos- 
sible variety  if  you  will  look  for  them." 

Miss  Bassick,  who  had  risen  to  her  feet, 
looked  extremely  stiff  and  haughty.  Mr. 
Lascelles,  to  judge  from  the  expression  of 
his  countenance,  would  have  preferred  be- 
ing in  some  other  place. 

"  I  regretted  hearing  that  you  had  a 
headache,  and  am  glad  to  find  it  has  left 
you,"  he  stammered. 

"Yes,  I  am  scarcely  suffering  at  all 
now.  I  thought  a  walk  would  relieve  it, 
and  I  suppose  you  were  walking  out  also, 
Miss  Bas>iek  P 

"  Yes,"  said  Miss  Bassick,  curtly,  and 
knitting  her  handsome  brows.  At  the 
same  moment  Mr.  Lascelles's  horse  neigh- 
ed, and  Juliet  looked  at  him  admiringly. 

"  What  a  beautiful  horse !"  she  said. 
"  I  really  envy  you  your  ride.  I  hope  all 
are  well  at  Wye." 

"Thank  you  —  very  well;  and  as  I 
promised  to  return  to  tea,  I  will  now  take 
my  leave,  Iadi«-s.M 

Mr.  Lascelles  bowed  low,  and,  mounting 
his  horse,  rode  off :  in  all  his  life  he  had 
never  felt  a  sensation  of  such  relief. 

Miss  Bassick  and  Juliet  stood  facing 
each  other — the  face  of  the  one  a  vivid 
crimson,  the  lips  of  the  other  smiling 
quietly. 


"  Shall  we  return,  Miss  Bassick  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  am  ready  to  return !" 

Was  it  the  voice  of  Miss  Bassick,  or 
somebody  else's  ?  The  coo-coo  had  quite 
disappeared  —  it  was  brief,  abrupt,  and 
metallic.  They  walked  on  together  in 
silence  for  some  moments.  Then  Miss 
Bassick  said,  in  the  same  abrupt  tone, 

"  So  you  think  it  honorable  to  steal  up 
and  surprise  people  ?" 

"  To  steal  up  !"  said  Juliet,  composedly, 
though  a  slight  color  came  to  her  face. 

"As  you  did  while  I  was  conversing 
with  Mr.  Lascelles." 

Juliet  smiled.  It  seemed  impossible 
for  her  to  take  any  but  the  humorous 
view  of  what  she  had  witnessed.  Per- 
haps the  term  "  conversing,"  employed  by 
Miss  Bassick,  suggested  the  retort  that 
she  and  Mr.  Lascelles  had  been  convers- 
ing in  a  very  peculiar  attitude. 

"  I  did  not  steal  np.  I  was  going 
home,  and  came  out  of  the  woods  by  mere 
accident.  If  you  knew  me  better  than 
you  do,  Miss  Bassick,  you  would  not  ac- 
cuse me  of  stealing  up  on  people." 

"  I  know  you  well !"  said  Miss  Bassick, 
yielding  to  anger;  "  and  you  need  not  at- 
tempt to  deceive  me,  as  you  deceive  other 
people !" 

Juliet's  smiles  disappeared  and  her  head 
rose  haughtily.  But  this  had  no  effect 
upon  Miss  Bassick,  who  felt,  probably,  that 
she  had  destroyed  the  bridges  behind  her. 

"You  followed  me,  to  spy  out  my 
movements  and  listen !"  she  exclaimed. 
"You  are  jealous  of  the  preference  Mr. 
Lascelles  has  for  me!  You  have  been 
watching,  and  sending  others  to  watch  all 
my  movements!  You  have  never  liked 
me,  and  take  this  means  of  wreaking  your 
spite  and  dislike  on  me!" 

Juliet  listened  with  a  sort  of  wonder. 
Did  Miss  Bassick  really  believe  what  she 
said?  Could  it  be  possible  that,  after 
their  necessarily  intimate  association  for 
years,  she  could  honestly  take  any  sucli 
view  of  her  character  ?  Then  her  surprise 
yielded  to  slight  indignation.  She  was 
not  exactly  angry,  but  felt  that  her  com- 
panion's words  were  an  outrage.  Still 
she  remained  calm,  and  replied, 


VIRGINIA  BOHKMIANS. 


101 


"I  have  really  no  spite  to  wreak  upon 
you,  Miss  Bassiek.  1  am  obliged  to  say 
—since  you  charge  me  with  'dUlike' — 
that  I  do  not  particularly  like  you.  I 
have  tried  to  do  so,  but  found  it  impos- 
sible, probably  from  a  want  of  congenial- 
ity in  our  characters,  \vbich  really  do  seem 
utterly  unlike.  Shall  I  tell  you  just  what 
I  mean  *  You  state  your  opinion  of  me 
frankly — I  will  be  frank  with  you  also. 
I  am  afraid  you  are  not  a  sincere  person, 
and  resort  to  indirect  means  to  attain 
your  ends.  You  seem  very  angry,  but  I 
cannot  help  that.  It  is  better  I  should 
tell  you  all,  as  you  say  I  am  in  the  habit 
of  deceiving  people  but  cannot  deceive 
you.  I  am  not  at  all  angry  with  you, 
and  since  you  have  lived  with  us  have 
never  uttered  an  unkind  word  to  you; 
but  I  never  could  grow  fond  of  you — I 
have  told  you  why.  It  may  be  unfortu- 
nate, but  I  feel  an  actual  aversion  for  in- 
sincere and  indirect  people." 

"  Very  well !"  cried  Miss  Bassick,  in  a 
good  wholesome  rage ;  "  and  now  shall  I 
tell  you  my  opinion  of  you  ?" 

"  You  may  in  a  moment,  if  you  fancy. 
I  wish  to  say  only  one  word  on  another 
subject.  You  accuse  me  of  spying,  and 
watching,  and  every  dishonorable  pro- 
ceeding, from  jealousy  —  jealousy  of  the 
preference  of  Mr.  Lascelles  for  yourself !" 

"  Yes,  I  do  accuse  you  of  that,  and  of 
following  me  this  evening!  It  was  an 
outrage  to — " 

"Be  present  at  your  private  interview 
with  Mr.  Lascelles  2" 

Juliet,  suddenly  recalling  the  peculiar 
attitude  of  the  group,  and  their  startled 
expression,  could  not  suppress  a  smile. 

"  I  am  not  at  all  jealous,  Miss  Bassick," 
she  said.  "  I  don't  know  whether  you 
will  believe  me,  but  any  preferences  of 
Mr.  Lascelles  are  a  matter  of  indifference 
to  me.  I  really  have  no  desire  to  marry 
Mr.  Lascelles,  and  you  are  quite  at  liberty 
to  do  so,  if  you  wish ;  I  see  no  objection. 
I  might  say  that  it  would,  perhaps,  be 
better  to  receive  his  visits  in  the  drawing- 
room  than  in  this  secret  manner ;  but  you 
will  decide  for  yourself,  of  course.  And 
now,  Miss  Bassick,  I  think  we  understand 


each  other.  ll  is  better  that  \\  e  .should, 
and  I  have,  there!'. -re,  spoken  plainly. 
Do  marry  Mr.  Lasrelles,  if  y,.ii  \vish,  and 
he  is  anxious.  1  shall  certainly  not  op- 
pose it,  and  you  must  not  think  I  am  a 
policeman.  If  I  had  kn.»\\n  that  you  and 
Mr.  Laserllrs  were  talking  in  that  roman- 
tic spot  this  (.'veiling,  1  a-Miiv  you  I  should 
have  gone  a  mile  out  of  the  \\-.\\  t<>  avoid 
interrupting  you." 

In  spite  of  everything — of  Mi-s  !>a- 
sick's  wrath,  insults,  imputations — Mi-s 
Juliet  Armstrong  was  evidently  unable  to 
restrain  her  sense  of  humor.  Sudden!  v 
she  uttered  a  gay  laugh,  which  enraged 
Miss  Bassick  to  the  last  degree.  As  they 
had  entered  the  grounds,  however,  the 
interview  came  to  an  end,  and  the  maid- 
ens separated  without  further  words. 

Mr.  Ruggles,  lying  concealed  behind  a 
thick  clump  of  cedars  on  the  side  of  the 
road  opposite  the  trysting  -  place,  had 
heard  nothing  that  was  said.  But  then 
he  had  witnessed  everything,  and  his 
sharp  glances  left  nothing  in  doubt,  lie 
had  heard  the  report  in  Piedmont  that 
Mr.  Lascelles  was  engaged  to  be  married 
to  Miss  Armstrong,  and  the  attitude  of 
the  gentleman  and  his  companion,  as  they 
sat  upon  the  rocks,  clearly  showed  that 
the  report  was  correct.  The  minor  cir- 
cumstance that  he  mistook  Miss  Bassick 
for  Miss  Armstrong  was  natural,  but  not 
important.  Mr.  Ruggles  gazed  at  the  ro- 
mantic couple  and  smiled ;  remained  in 
his  place  of  concealment  until  Mr.  Las- 
celles and  the  ladies  had  disappeared,  and 
then,  emerging  in  the  dusk,  went  back  to 
Piedmont. 

Having  shut  himself  up  in  his  room, 
he  proceeded  to  write  a  note.  This  note 
was  brief,  but  very  much  to  the  point. 
It  contained  these  words : 

"Miss    ARMSTRONG,  —  An    unknown 
friend  takes  this  means  of  puttin_ 
on  your  guard.     Don't  marry  Mr.  Doug- 
las Lascelles,  of  Wye.     lie  is  a  forger, 
and  has  one  wife  living !" 

Having  placed  this  communication  in 
an  envelope,  and  directed  it  to  "  Miss 


192 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


Armstrong,  Trianon,  near  Piedmont,"  he 
put  on  his  hat  and  went  and  deposited  it 
in  the  post-office ;  and  half  an  hour  after- 
ward old  William  came  and  bore  it  off 
with  the  rest  of  Mrs.  Armstrong's  letters 
to  Trianon — the  mail  having  arrived  in 
the  stage  a  short  time  before.  Mr.  Rug- 
gles  was  lounging  at  the  post-office  when 
Mrs.  Armstrong's  mail  was  asked  for. 
He  saw  his  letter  handed  to  the  old  ser- 
vant. Then  he  sauntered  back,  with  a 
smile  on  his  lips,  to  the  tavern. 


LXIV. 

THE    OLD    CHAPEL. 

THE  "  Old  Chapel  "  was  a  well-known 
edifice  in  the  Piedmont  neighborhood. 
It  was  the  ancient  stone  church,  on  the 
slope  of  the  mountain,  near  which  Mouse 
and  the  Lefthander  had  met  their  friends 
on  the  morning  after  the  scenes  at  the 
circus. 

It  was  built  of  limestone,  and  had  a 
venerable  appearance.  'There  were  old- 
fashioned  folding -doors  on  three  of  the 
sides,  brushed  by  hanging  boughs,  a  gal- 
lery at  one  end,  ranges  of  straight-backed 
pews,  a  cylindrical  stove  in  the  middle 
aisle,  and  a  lofty  pulpit,  with  a  sounding- 
board  above  it,  flanked  by  two  small 
square  windows.  The  other  windows 
were  lofty,  and  closed  by  solid  shutters. 
There  was  no  paint  about  the  building — 
if  there  ever  had  been,  it  had  disappeared. 
The  edifice  dated  back  to  the  times  of  the 
earliest  settlers  in  the  region,  and  looked 
down  from  the  little  plateau  on  the  side 
of  the  mountain — a  venerable  relic  of  the 
pa-t.  Once  a  year  service  was  held  in  it 
by  Mr.  (Jranthaiii,  to  whoso  parish  it  In-- 
longed. He  loved  the  spot  very  much,  as 
his  friend  IJishop  Meade  had  loved  it,  and 
it.  was  equally  clear  to  his  parishioners. 
In  the  graveyard,  enclosed  by  a  stone 
wall  and  overshadowed  by  weeping-wil- 
lows and  syeamores,  were  buried  the  an- 
cestors of  half  of  the  families  of  the 
neighborhood  You  could  trace  out  the 
familiar  names — and  some  of  them  were 


famous — on  the  mossy  slabs,  half  covered 
by  the  luxuriant  growth  of  ivy  and  myr- 
tle, instep  deep.  It  was  a  sort  of  pious 
pilgrimage  which  the  good  people  of  the 
little  parish  made  once  a  year  to  the  Old 
Chapel.  They  were  not  willing  to  have 
it  moulder  away.  A  little  attention  would 
prevent  that,  for  the  stone-work  was  still 
solid  and  enduring.  So  service  was  still 
held  there,  and  the  parishioners  made  it 
a  point  of  duty  to  attend:  it  was  only 
once  a  year.  If  they  went  thither  oftener 
it  was  in  a  long  procession  of  carriages, 
with  a  black  vehicle  in  front,  moving 
slowly  up  the  mountain  road:  some 
member  of  the  little  community,  a  gray- 
haircd  elder  or  little  blossom,  was  going 
to  sleep  beside  the  dear  ones  already 
there. 

One  bright  Sunday  morning  of  early 
December  the  annual  service  was  held  at 
the  Old  Chapel.  The  "  Indian  summer" 
had  come  and  the  fall  lingered  still,  and 
as  it  often  does  in  Virginia  until  January. 
The  mild  air  caressed  and  did  not  chill. 
A  low  whisper  in  the  few  dry  leaves  still 
clinging  to  the  trees  seemed  the  murmur- 
ous farewell  of  autumn  as  it  departed. 

The  old  house  of  worship  was  rilled  at 
an  early  hour.  Ellis  Grantham  was  «r<  - 
ing  to  preach  his  first  sermon.  He  had 
reached  home  on  the  week  before,  a  new- 
ly-made deacon,  and  this  would  be  tho 
first  time  he  had  risen  to  address  a  con- 
gregation; so  the  attendance  from  Pied- 
mont, where  the  young  man  was  a  great 
favorite,  was  very  large,  and  persons  were 
also  present  from  the  whole  neighborhood, 
including  Bohemia.  Mr.  Gary  and  Fran- 
ces were  seated  in  the  body  of  the  church, 
not  far  from  IJrantz  Elliot  and  Xelly  and 
I  >addy  Welles.  General  Laxvlles  and 
his  family  occupied  a  pew  near  them, 
and  Mrs.  Armstrong  and  .Juliet  sat  in 
front  of  them.  In  the  gallery  were 
Mouse,  Harry,  and  the  Lefthander;  Gen- 
tleman Joe  having  remained  at  home  to 
look  after  the  establishment.  Ju-t  in 
front  of  the  preacher  was  seen  the  portly 
form  of  the,  Tinted  States  maishal  who 
had  made  the  night  descent  on  the  moon- 
shiners, lie  had  reached  the  town  on  the 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


193 


day  before,  and  was  waiting  for  the  arri- 
val of  a  detachment  of  cavalry,  it  was  re- 
ported. Meanwhile,  like  a  respectable 
citizen,  he  attended  public  worship. 

Ellis  read  the  service  clearly  and  dis- 
tinctly, and  preached  a  very  good  sermon. 
It  was  remarkable  for  the  absence  of  am- 
bitious rhetoric,  and  was  conversational 
rather  than  declamatory.  His  gesture 
rose  naturally  from  the  feeling,  and  was 
an  aid.  His  views  were  Low-Church,  and 
were  very  far  from  implying  that  confes- 
'sion  to  a  priest  and  absolution  refilled  the 
lamp  of  grace,  a  part  of  whose  oil  had 
been  spilled  by  sinful  stumbling.  These 
fancies,  and  that  other,  that  the  priest 
must  refill  the  lamp  before  death,  or  the 
bearer  of  it  would  be  shut  out,  were  very 
ridiculous,  and  very  offensive  to  him,  the 
preacher.  It  all  arose  from  the  absurdity 
of  regarding  the  priest  as  more  than  a 
man.  He  was  simply  an  ecclesiastical 
official  with  prescribed  duties.  To  speak 
of  his  forgiving  sin  was  monstrous,  and  a 
relic  of  superstition.  Those  who  thought 
so  had  better  go  to  Rome  at  once.  No 
man  could  be  a  mediator.  There  had 
been  one  Mediator  and  High-priest,  who 
had  offered  sacrifice  once  for  all.  There 
was  no  more  sacrifice  now ;  that  was 
done  with.  All  that  was  needed  now 
was  faith  in  Him,  and  good  works,  as  an 
evidence  that  the  faith  was  a  living  faith. 

His  sermon  was  short,  and  the  blessing 
was  pronounced  by  Mr.  Grantham.  Then 
the  congregation  began  to  talk ;  for  the 
people  of  the  Piedmont  parish  talked 
after  service.  It  may  even  be  said  that 
they  talked  enormously — both  very  fast 
and  very  loud,  as  well  as  very  long. 
There  was  so  much  to  say :  they  had  not 
seen  each  other  for  a  whole  week  !  And 
then  had  they  not — as  a  writer  in  the 
Southern  Churchman  had  said  of  coun- 
try congregations  —  come  to  church  "to 
see  and  be  seen  ?"  This  was  a  fearful  ac- 
cusation to  bring  against  the  young  ladies 
and  gentlemen,  but  it  certainly  looked 
very  much  like  it.  The  maidens  certain- 
ly did  go  to  and  fro  through  the  aisles, 
gesticulating,  exclaiming,  and  beaming  on 
all  around  them.  But  then  that  was  nat- 
13 


ural  ;  had  not  the  preaehrr  talked  at 

for  an  hour,  and  \\as  it  n..t  their  turn  now? 

The  elders  indulged  in  friendly  greet- 
ings outside  the  chtireh.  1  It-re,  the  tail 
form  of  old  General  Laseelles  towered 
above  his  neighbors,  and  with  his  hearlv 
smile,  and  warm  grasp  of  the  hand  for 
everybody,  he  was  a  notable  ligmv.  He 
accosted  Daddy  Welles  with  the  air  of  an 
old  acquaintance,  and  pointed  to  the  1'ni- 
ted  States  marshal  with  a  smile.  The  1  >ud- 
dy  smiled  sweetly  in  return  and  nodded. 

"  You  had  better  be  on  your  guard," 
said  the  general.  "  There  is  going  to  be 
trouble." 

"  Trouble,  did  you  say,  gineral  ?"  Dad- 
dy Welles  asked,  with  an  innocent  air. 
"  Oh  no !  I  hope  there  won't  be  any 
trouble." 

"  Don't  be  too  certain  of  it,  old  friend." 

"  We  can't  be  certain  of  anything  in 
this  miser'ble  world,  gineral,  onless  it's 
one  thing — the  havc-his-carcass." 

But  the  general  shook  his  head. 

"  Don't  count  on  that,  Daddy,"  he  said, 
in  a  low  tone.  "Any  law  question  that 
comes  up  in  this  business  will  be  decided 
in  the  United  States  District  Court,  not 
in  our  own." 

"And  does  that  make  a  difference,  gin- 
eral? Ain't  the  have-his-carcass  law  in 
all  the  courts  ?" 

"There  is  not  much  law  in  the  Uni- 
ted States  District  Court,  unless  it  is  mar- 
tial law.  Once  Virginia  was  a  sovereign 
State,  and  her  rights  were  inviolate ;  now 
every  little  judge  clothed  in  the  Federal 
ermine  openly  sneers  at  the  idea  that  we 
have  any  rights.  Only  one  thing  is  left 
— to  arrest  our  old  Virginia  judges,  and 
issue  an  order  that  there  shall  be  no  more 
State  courts  in  the  commonwealth,  unless 
negroes  preside  in  them." 

"  Well,  well — but  the  Virginia  people 
won't  stand  that  long,  gineral." 

"  I  hope  not.  But  take  care  of  your- 
self in  the  mean  while,  Daddy  Welles." 

"  I'll  try,  gineral." 

"  I  am  coming  to  Bohemia  to-morrow 
— to  your  house.  Get  our  friends  togeth- 
er ;  I  want  to  talk  to  them." 

"  About  the  business  ?" 


194 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


The  general  nodded. 

"  It  will  be  best  not  to  have  any  trouble. 
You  see  the  marshal  is  here  already,  and 
there  he  is  coming  up  to  speak  to  me." 

Daddy  Welles  did  not  retire  at  this  in- 
timation ;  he  only  smiled.  The  marshal 
came  up  and  looked  keenly  at  him. 

"  I  remember  you,"  he  said,  coldly ; 
"  your  name  is  Welles." 

"  The  same,  friend." 

"  So  you  are  a  church-goer  ?" 

"I  mostly  go  to  meetin'  somewlicrcs 
on  Sunday." 

"And  break  the  laws  all  the  week, 
depending  for  safety  on  your  State 
courts!" 

Daddy  Welles  smiled,  and  gazed  at  the 
marshal  with  a  look  of  mild  inquiry. 

"  Is  there  a  law  passed  in  Congress 
that  we're  to  have  no  more  State  courts 
in  Virginia,  friend  ?"  he  asked. 

The  marshal  frowned.  The  question 
was  apparently  innocent,  but  was  embar- 
rassing. 

"And  the  have-his-carcass — has  Con- 
gress done  away  with  the  have-his-carcass 
too?" 

The  marshal  uttered  a  suppressed 
sound,  which  very  much  resembled  an 
oath. 

"  Nothing  of  the  sort !  but  the  Federal 
Court  has  jurisdiction  in  your  case,  and 
you  need  not  depend  on  it." 

"  Oh  no  !  1  won't  depend  on  it,  friend. 
I  s'poso  old  Virginny  '11  have  to  wait  for 
better  times,  when  the  troops  won't  be 
sent  for  to  decide  law  p'ints." 

Having  thus  mildly  expressed  his  hope 
for  the  future,  Daddy  Welles  retired,  and 
the  marshal  bowed  to  General  Lascelle 
and  said, 

"  I  shall  apply  to  you  in  a  day  or  two 
for  search-warrants,  general,  as  before — in 
this  matter  of  the  illicit  distilleries." 

The  general  bowed,  and  said, 

"I   shall  grant  them,  of  course,  -ir 
though   I  should  think  you  might  hav( 
applied  to  the  district  judge." 

"  lie  is  not  present." 

"  And  I  hope  he  will  stay  away  as  long 
as  possible.  Between  a  judge  in  a  black 
coat  sitting  on  a  bench,  and  violating  our 


State  law,  and  a  marshal  acting  under  or- 
ders, with  troops  to  support  him,  I  prefer 
the  marshal  and  troops — that  is  intelligi- 
ble, at  least." 

The  marshal  bowed,  and  said,  formally, 
"The  business  is  disagreeable;  but,  as 
you  have  said,  I  act  under  orders." 

The  general  bowed  in  reply,  and  the  I 
marshal  walked  on.  Soon  afterward  the 
ongregation  dispersed  and  returned  home 
— all  of  them,  at  least,  but  a  small  group 
which  lingered  in  the  quiet  church-yard, 
overgrown  with  myrtle  and  shaded  by  its 
large  sycamores  and  willows.  There  was 
one  great  weeping-willow,  especially,  whose 
tassels  reached  down  and  brushed  against 
the  tombstones ;  and  the  little  party,  con- 
sisting of  Harry  and  the  Lefthander  and 
Mouse,  were  looking  at  the  quiet  scene, 
and  musing,  before  setting  out  on  their 
return  to  Bohemia.  Harry  was  thinking 
of  the  face  of  Frances  Gary,  as  she  stood, 
a  rose-bud  in  the  midst  of  rose-buds,  in 
the  aisle  of  the  church,  and  never  had  she 
seemed  so  far  away  from  him  as  at  that 
moment.  The  Lefthander,  who  had  seen 
Mr.  Lascelles,  wore  a  very  gloomy  expres- 
sion. Mouse  alone  of  the  party  looked 
quietly  happy — Frances  Gary  had  put  her 
arms  around  her  as  she  came  out  of  church 
and  kissed  her,  and  Mouse  loved  her  little 
hostess  of  Falling  Water  dearly,  and  was 
made  happy  by  the  kiss. 

The  child  wandered  about,  reading  the 
inscriptions  on  the  tombstones.  There 
were  a  number  of  little  grassy  mounds 
marked  by  small  head-stones.  These  were 
the  graves  of  children,  but  they  did  not 
seem  to  make  Mouse  sad.  She  smiled  as 
she  read  the  names,  "  Little  Lucy "  or 
"Our  Annie,"  and  said, 

"  I  think  it  would  be  nice  to  be  buried 
here,  poppa — don't  you?" 

"  Yes,"  the  Lefthander  replied,  "  it  is  a 
very  good  place." 

"  Hear  tin-  wind  in  the  willow  !  May- 
be the  dead  people  hear  it  too." 

"Doubtful,"  was  his  reply;  "they  don't 
hear  inneh  that  is  going  on.  But  stop 
tliis  talking  about  being  buried,  Mignon. 
If  they  bury  you,  they'll  have  to  leave 
room  for  me  not  far  off  from  you." 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"Of  course,"  said  Mouse — "or  for  me 
beside  you/' 

"But  that  won't  be  here.  We'll  get 
up  the  troupe  soou,  and  go  away/' 

Mouse  looked  at  Harry  and  smiled. 

"I  am  acquainted  with  a  young  gentle- 
man who's  not  anxious  to  go  away,"  she 
observed;  then  leaning  over  she  whisper- 
ed, '"Forgive  me,  Harry,  1  didn't  mean  to 
make  you  blush  so  1" 

After  strolling  through  the  old  grave- 
yard, carpeted  with  myrtle,  for  a  little 
while  longer,  the  party  then  set  out  for 
home,  following  the  road  through  the 
lap, 

The  Lefthander  walked  on  with  his 
head  bent  down,  and  the  same  moody  ex- 
pression which  of  late  had  become  com- 
mon with  him.  It  was  an  expression  of 
hesitation  and  doubt  —  that  of  the  man 
who  is  puzzled  to  determine  upon  his 
course  in  some  important  matter.  The 
singular  part  of  it  was  that  this  expression 
grew  deeper  and  more  intense  whenever  he 
mentioned  or  encountered  Mr.  Lascelles. 


LXV. 

JULIET'S  SECRET. 

HAVING  returned  from  service  at  the 
Old  Chapel,  Mrs.  Armstrong  proceeded  to 
dine,  and  then  repaired  to  the  drawing- 
room,  whither  Juliet  followed  her. 

There  was  a  very  great  contrast  be- 
tween their  expressions.  Mrs.  Armstrong 
was  restless,  moody,  evidently  displeased, 
and  "  out  of  sorts "  generally.  From 
time  to  time  she  patted  the  carpet  impa- 
tiently, almost  angrily,  with  her  small  foot 
in  its  handsome  boot,  and  the  inner  ex- 
tremities of  her  eyebrows  were  much  too 
close  together  to  indicate  tranquillity. 
Juliet,  on  the  contrary,  had  never  seemed 
more  composed.  Her  pretty  face,  to  use 
an  ambitious  simile,  resembled  a  rose-tint- 
ed evening  sky  without  a  cloud  upon  it. 
There  was  not  the  least  shadow  in  her 
limpid  eyes,  and  she  leaned  back  in  her 
arm-chair  and  looked  at  the  fire  with  the 
air  of  a  person  at  peace  with  all  the 
world. 


"It  ivally  is  unendurable!"1  sVid  Mrs. 
Arm>trong,  at  last  ;  "can  he  call  himsrli' 
a  gentleman,  1  wonder?" 

"  \\'h<>  i>  In-,  mamma  .'"  xiid  Juliet,  with 
extreme  tranquillity. 

"Mr.  Lascelles!  How  can  he  reconcile 
it  with  common  decency  to  behave  as  he 
does?" 

"I  am  not  sure  that  I  understand  you." 

"At  church  to-day  he  did  not  come 
near  you,  or  even  so  much  as  bow  to  you. 
It  is  disgraceful!  Here  is  the  whole, 
neighborhood  connecting  your  name  with 
his  own — you  are  reported  to  be  rngauvd 
— and  he  does  not  even  speak  to  you !" 

Juliet  smiled.  She  had  said  nothing 
to  her  mother  of  the  scene  in  the  woods ; 
but  Mrs.  Armstrong  was  quite  cognizant 
of  the  preference  of  Mr.  Lascelles  for  Mi>s 
Bassick,  and  was  slightly  illogical  in  her 
present  views.  If  Mr.  Lascelles  were  not 
Juliet's  suitor  but  Miss  Bassick's,  why 
should  the  lady  regard  his  demeanor  as  a 
matter  of  any  importance  ?  For  the  sake 
of  appearances?  Yes,  no  doubt,  for  the 
sake  of  appearances.  Miss  Juliet  there- 
fore smiled,  and  as  she  had  a  good  deal 
of  humor  under  her  calm  exterior,  said, 

"  I  suppose  Mr.  Lascelles  was  moody 
and  unhappy  from  not  seeing  Miss  Bas- 
sick at  church.  You  know  when  people 
are  in  his  state  of  mind  they  often  neglect 
the  little  forms  of  courtesy." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  rose  erect  in  her  chair. 

"  Good  heavens,  Juliet !  I  really  am 
out  of  patience !"  she  exclaimed. 

"I  would  not  be  if  I  were  you,  mam- 
ma. You  mean  with  me,  I  suppose." 

"Yes,  my  dear;  I  cannot  help  it.  Y  ; 
really  seem  to  have  no  pride  at  all." 

"  We  have  discussed  that  before,  mam- 
ma—don't let  us  return  to  it.  I  will  say 
again,  however,  that  I  have  a  great  deal, 
and  that  it  is  a  matter  of  indifference  to 
me  whether  Mr.  Lascelles  is  polite  to  me 
or  the  reverse.  Why  should  I  ca; 

"But  think,  my  dear!  The  whole 
neighborhood  are  talking  of  you.  Com- 
mon decency,  I  say,  would  prompt  a  gen- 
tleman to  act  differently.  Everybody 
noticed  it,  and  I  saw  that  hateful  Mi.-s 
Grundy  nodding,  and  smirking,  and  gig- 


196 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


gling  to  her  horrid  Piedmont  friends ;  they 
are  all  low  people :  she  saw  Mr.  Lascelles 
pass  near  you  without  turning  his  head, 
and  to-morrow  it  will  be  all  over  the 
neighborhood." 

"  Very  well,  mamma." 

Juliet  spoke  with  great  composure,  as 
she  understood  tolerably  well  what  caused 
Mr.  Lascelles  to  shun  her — the  very  un- 
pleasant meeting  in  the  woods. 

"  My  dear  Juliet,  for  heaven's  sake 
don't  say '  well,  mamma,'  to  everything !" 
exclaimed  her  mother. 

"It  expresses  precisely  what  I  feel," 
Juliet  said.  "  I  mean  that  I  am  perfect- 
ly well  satisfied  to  have  Mr.  Lascelles  bow 
to  me  or  not  bow,  come  to  see  me  or  not 
come  to  see  me — though  I  should  very 
much  prefer  that,  under  all  the  circum- 
stances, he  would  not  do  so.  As  to  his 
manner  to  me  in  public,  that  is  really  a 
matter  of  very  little  importance,  mam- 
ma." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  groaned ;  then  she 
said, 

"Fortunately  people  may  think  that 
you  have  discarded  him,  and  that  you 
have  quarrelled  on  that  account." 

"I  hope  they  will  not.  You  know  I 
have  not  discarded  Mr.  Lascelles — if  any- 
thing, he  has  discarded  me !" 

Juliet  smiled  sweetly,  and  added, 

"  He  feels  badly,  no  doubt — I  mean,  ill 
at  case  with  me — as  he  must  see  that  the 
atmosphere  of  Trianon  has  cooled  in 
some  degree." 

"  So  this  is  the  last  of  everything — the 
end!"  exclaimed  Mrs.  Armstrong,  in  a 
tragic  voice. 

"  It  really  seems  so,  mamma,  and  I  am 
very  glad  of  it.  I  have  a  great  many 
reasons  for  preferring  not  to  receive  any 
more  visits  from  Mr.  Lascelles.  I  have 
not  spoken  of  these  reasons,  and  perhaps 
I  \\.is  wrong  in  not  doing  so.  Shall  1 
tell  you  all  of  them  at  once,  now,  and 
have  no  more  secrets  from  you  ?" 

"Secrets!  Have  you  secrets  from 
your  poor  unhappy  mamma,  ,Iul: 

It  was  a  pathetic  wail,  like  the  former 
— here  was  a  new  misery. 

"  Yes,  mamma ;  at  least,  I  have  delay- 


ed telling  you  something.  Until  this 
moment  I  have  never  had  secrets,  really, 
or  concealed  anything.  I  have  only 
chosen  my  time  to  speak  as  I  do  now." 

"  What  can  you  mean,  my  child  ?  Is 
there  anything  dreadful  coming?"  Mrs. 
Armstrong  cried. 

"Something  very  disagreeable,  if  you 
think  of  it  as  I  do." 

"What  25  it?" 

"  I  met  Miss  Bassick  and  Mr.  Lascelles 
in  the  woods  the  other  evening — embra- 
cing." 

"Embracing!  I  knew  it — I  knew  it 
was  true !" 

"  It  was  an  accident,  and  there  was  an 
edairdssement — it  was  unavoidable.  Mr. 
Lascelles  is  engaged  to  be  married,  it 
seems,  to  Miss  Bassick,  and  I  am  obliged, 
therefore,  to  give  him  up,  whether  I  wish 
to  do  so  or  not." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  gasped.  Wrords  seem- 
ed to  fail  her.  Her  lips  moved,  and  prob- 
ably essayed  to  utter  the  phrase  "  Go 
on,"  but  there  was  no  sound. 

"  That  is  one  good  reason  for  not  re- 
garding Mr.  Lascelles  in  the  light  of  a 
suitor,"  continued  Juliet,  "and  there  is 
another." 

She  drew  from  her  pocket  the  letter 
written  by  Mr.  Ruggles,  in  which  that 
gentleman  characterized  Mr.  Lascelles  as 
a  forger,  with  one  wife  living.  Juliet 
read  it  aloud,  and  added, 

"  Of  course  I  do  not  believe  that  there 
is  any  truth  in  it.  There  rarely  is  any,  I 
suppose,  in  anonymous  letters,  as  the  per- 
sons writing  them  indicate  their  own  char- 
acters by  not  signing  them.  But  still,  it 
is  not  agreeable,  mamma,  to  receive  atten- 
tions from  a  gentleman  of  whom  such 
things  can  be  said  by  anybody.  I  meant 
to  send  this  note  to  Mr.  Lascelles,  but 
thought  I  would  first  show  it  to  you." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  took  the  letter,  and 
read  it  with  an  imbecile  expression. 

"A  forger!  —  one  wife  living!''  she 
gaipecL 

"  So  you  see  it  would  be  very  impru- 
dent for  me  to  marry  Mr.  Lascelles  under 
any  circumstances,  main  ma." 

"Good  heavens!"  —  this  was  a  tragic 


VIRGINIA   JHJIIKMIANS. 


107 


expression  mucli  used  by  Mrs.  Armsti 
—  "and  the   creature  is  to   pollute  this 
mansion  again  with  his  presence!" 

"  Perhaps  lie  will  not  do  so." 

"  Hi-  is  coming  to-morrow.  1  request- 
ed a  private  interview  at  church  to-day." 

u  A  private  interview,  mainnia  '." 

11 1  meant  to  demand  an  explanation," 
gasped  Mrs.  Armstrong, exhibiting  indica- 
tions of  falling  into  hysterics — "to  have 
a  full  understanding  with  him — and  lie 
will  be  here." 

Juliet  mused  for  a  few  moments,  and 
then  said, 

"  Perhaps  it  is  very  well  that  you  did 
make  the  appointment.  It  is  due  to  Mr. 
Lasccllcs  that  he  should  be  informed  of 
the  contents  of  this  letter  without  delay 
— that  is  only  justice  and  common  cour- 
tesy, lie  will  come,  and  it  can  be  given 
to  him.  I  need  not  say  who  is  the  prop- 
er person  to  do  so." 

"  The  proper  person  ?" 

"  Miss  Bassick.  As  she  is  engaged  to 
be  married  to  Mr.  Lascelles,  this  note  con- 
cerns her  more  than  any  one  else.  She 
would  no  doubt  object  to  becoming  wife 
No.  2.  I  shall  therefore  give  her  the 
note,  to  be  transmitted  to  Mr.  Lascelles, 
and  as  you  can  now  have  no  desire  to 
come  to  an  explanation  with  him,  Miss 
Bassick  can  take  your  place,  and  arrange 
her  own  affairs." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  sunk  back  in  her  chair, 
looking  so  utterly  bewildered  and  helpless 
that  Juliet,  who  had  spoken  in  an  accent 
of  lurking  humor  and  enjoyment  of  the 
little  comedy  to  be  enacted,  felt  really 
sorry  for  her,  and  rose  and  went  to  her 
side. 

"  There,  there,  mamma,  don't  take  ev- 
erything so  seriously,"  she  said,  smooth- 
ing her  hair  gently  and  pressing  her  lips 
to  her  cheek.  She  then  sat  down  on  the 
cricket  at  her  mother's  feet,  and,  leaning 
one  arm  on  the  lady's  knees,  looked  up 
into  her  face.  Her  mother  bent  down 
and  kissed  her. 

"  There  was  something  else  to  tell  you, 
mamma,"  said  Juliet,  coloring  slightly. 

"  Something  else  ?"  faltered  Mrs.  Arm- 
strong. 


"Something  much  more  important 
than  anything  I  have  yd  told  y«»u,  mam- 
ma. Thnv  i-,  a  more  scri-uis  iva>.>n  than 
ill  the  r»t.  \\liv  I  do  not  wi>h  to  marry 
Mr.  Lascelles,  and  am  <juite  willing  that 
Miss  Bassick  should,  if  she  wi>lir>.'' 

"  What  reason  P 

"I  am  engaged  to  be  married  to  Ellis 
Nrantham,"  said  Juliet,  with  two  l>hi>h- 
roses  suddenly  blooming  in  her  rln-.-kv.. 

"Engaged !— to  Ellis  Grantham  !" 

"You  are  not  sorry,  are  you,  mamma  ( 
Don't  say  you  are  sorry — " 

Juliet's  head  sunk  a  little,  and  the 
queen-like  young  lady  suddenly  bccaim- 
only  a  shrinking  and  pleading  girl. 

"Don't  say  you  are  sorry,  mamma  ! — I 
love  him  so  much." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  thereupon  succumbed 
and  burst  into  tears.  She  hugged  the 
young  lady  to  her  bosom,  kissed  her  in  a 
wild  and  tragic  manner,  and  with  sobs 
and  gasps  said  she  never  could  part  with 
her  darling  —  which  was  singular,  as  ^li<- 
had  been  willing  to  part  with  the  darling 
to  Mr.  Lascelles. 

"  Ellis  Grantham !"  she  exclaimed;  "en- 
gaged to  him !  Oh,  Juliet." 

"You  know  you  love  him,  mamma," 
Juliet  said,  in  a  low  tone.  "  You  have 
said  so  a  hundred  times  :  was  it  so  wrong 
in  your  daughter  to  love  him  too  ?" 

Juliet  smiled  as  she  said  this,  raising  a 
moist  pair  of  eyes  and  a  pair  of  blushing 
cheeks. 

"  I  meant  to  tell  you  all  about  it  before, 
mamma,  but  there  was  really  very  little 
to  tell.  You  know  Ellis  came  to  see  us 
very  often,  and — and — it  happened — I 
mean,  he  grew  to  like  me.  He  did  not 
tell  me  so,  but  he  told  Anna  Gray,  and 
made  her  his  confidante,  and  Anna  made. 
no  secret  of  it;  you  know  how  intimate 
we  are.  When  Ellis  went  away  he  ask- 
ed me  to  correspond  with  him,  and  you 
agreed  that  I  should  do  so,  you  remember. 
That  is  all,  mamma." 

Juliet  quietly  dried  her  eyes,  in  an  un- 
obtrusive way,  with  her  handkerchief,  and 
looked  up  with  a  smile. 

"And  the  engagement  took  place  by  let- 
ter?" said  Mrs.  Armstrong,  in  a  dazed  way. 


198 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"  Yes,  mamma.  It  was  very  foolish  in 
Ellis,  as  lie  was  coming  home  so  soon. 
But  he  begged  me  so,  and  said  so  much 
about  sparing  me  the  pain  of  a  refusal 
face  to  face  with  him,  that  I  gave  up, 
and  wrote  back  that  I  would  marry  him  if 
you  approved  of  it.  Not  now,  mamma 
— when  he  is  ordained ;  and  some  day  he 
will  become  Mr.  Grantham's  assistant — " 

"And  you  will  spend  your  life  here, and 
never  go  to  Paris !"  gasped  the  poor  lady. 

"  Go  to  Paris  ?  I  don't  want  to  go  to 
Paris  in  the  least,  mamma.  The  Pied- 
mont neighborhood  is  charming,"  said 
this  very  inconsistent  young  lady. 

"  AVhy,  you  said  it  was  fearfully  dull !" 

"I  must  have  been  jesting." 

"  But  to  give  you  up — my  own,  my 
beloved  child !" 

"  I  shall  live  much  nearer  to  you  than 
I  should  have  lived  at  AVye." 

This  reply,  which  Juliet  uttered  with  a 
slight  smile  upon  her  lips,  quite  dismount- 
ed Mrs.  Armstrong's  logical  artillery. 

"  Of  course,  I  never  will  marry  without 
your  approval,  dear  mamma,"  said  the 
girl,  in  her  sweet,  earnest  voice,  "  and  I 
wrote  Ellis  so.  But  you  will  approve  of 
it — won't  you?  He  is  so  good — and  I 
love  him  so  much,  mamma." 

"When  she  told  her  mother  good-night 
that  night,  Juliet  kissed  her  and  said, 

"I  knew  you  loved  Ellis,  mamma,  and 
would  not  object,  and  he  will  love  you 
dearly — but  he  never  can  love  you  as  much 
as  I  do." 


I  A' VI. 
MRS.  ARMSTRONG'S  GREAT  BLOW. 

"You  will  be  good  enough,  if  you 
please,  to  look  for  another  home,  Miss 
l»,i— ick  —  I  would  suggest  y«>ur  friend 
Mi-*  (irundy's  as  a  congenial  retreat. 
I'udiT  all  the  circumstanees,  I  should 
prefer  your  not  remaining  longer  at  Tri- 
anon." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  uttered  these  w«»nK 
about  an  hour  after  her  interview  with 
Juliet,  who  had  gone  to  her  chamber. 


The  lady  and  Miss  Bassick  were  seated 
opposite  each  other  in  the  drawing-room. 
It  was  not  Miss  Bassick's  habit  to  seat 
herself  in  Mrs.  Armstrong's  presence 
without  being  invited,  but  she  had  done 
so  on  this  occasion  with  an  casv  air, 
which  seemed  to  say,  ""Well,  you  have 
sent  for  me,  I  am  ready  to  listen  to  you." 
Indeed,  her  whole  bearing  had  changed. 
She  was  no  longer  the  submissive  com- 
panion, but  quite  a  different  person.  She 
leaned  back  gracefully  in  her  red  velvet 
arm-chair,  and  quietly  awaited  the  coming 
storm.  The  storm  was  coming,  she  fclt,f 
for  no  doubt  Juliet  had  related  to  her 
mother  the  comic  incident  in  the  woods; 
but  then  that  was  unimportant :  she  had 
triumphed,  since  Mr.  Lascelles  was  her 
fance.  This  ill-tempered  old  woman 
might  rage,  but  that  would  do  no  harm ; 
and  it  was  even  with  a  sort  of  enjoyment 
that  she  anticipated  what  was  apparently 
approaching. 

In  response  to  Mrs.  Armstrong's  sug- 
gestion that  she  should  seek  for  a  new 
home,  Miss  Bassick  said, 

"  I  will  do  so  with  pleasure,  madam,  as 
anything  is  better  than  to  live  with  :i 
person  so  very  disagreeable  as  yourself  I1' 

Miss  Bassick  smiled  and  looked  straight 
at  Mrs.  Armstrong  as  she  uttered  these 
words.  She  evidently  expected  an  ex- 
plosion, but  none  took  place. 

"  I  am  glad  there  is  no  difference  of 
opinion,  then,  in  reference  to  what  is  best 
for  you  in  future,  Miss  Bassick,"  said  the 
lady. 

"  There  is  none  at  all,  madam.  Tria- 
non is  perfectly  hateful  to  me.  I  should 
not  like  to  be  married  from  your  house 
if  I  could  avoid  it." 

"  You  are  to  be  married  to  Mr.  Las- 
eelles,  1  hear/' 

"  Yes  madam — at  New-year.  The 
match,  I  hope,  is  agreeable  to  you  .'" 

-Perfectly." 

"  We  will  go  to  Paris  in  the  spring. 
Until  that  time  Mr.  Lascelles  will  remain 
at  Wye." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  inclined  her  head  and 
made  no  reply.  Miss  Bassick  was  much 
disappointed.  There  was  to  be  no  storra 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


199 


after  all,  then ;  and  that  fact  greatly  di- 
minished tho  sweets  of  triumph.  She 
began  to  grow  irritated. 

"I  have  informed  you  of  my  approach- 
ing marriage,"  she  said,  "  as  an  explana- 
tion of  what  Juliet  -witnessed  the  other 
evening  —  an  interview  between  myself 
and  Mr.  Lascelles,  when  I  accidentally 
met  him  as  I  was  walking  out.  lie  was 
holding  my  hand,  which  1  should  not 
have  permitted  him  to  do  if  we  had  not 
been  engaged.  During  my  conversation 
with  Mr.  Lascelles  Juliet  stole  up  and  lis- 
tened, which  I  must  say  I  think  was  very 
dishonorable." 

Mi-s  Hassiek  looked  at  Mrs.  Armstrong. 
Every  wrord  she  had  uttered,  and  even  the 
omission  of  Miss  before  Juliet's  name, 
was  plainly  meant  as  a  provocation. 

" I  say  dishonorable"  added  Miss  Bas- 
sick,  "  for  it  is  nothing  less  than  that  to 
lurk  and  eavesdrop,  and  go  and  report 
what  is  seen  and  heard — and  a  great  deal 
more.  Juliet  did  so  on  this  occasion, 
though  I  suppose  she  will  deny  it." 

"  Is  it  possible  ?"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong. 
"  I  had  supposed  that  Juliet  was  an  hon- 
orable person.  It  is  melancholy  to  have 
a  daughter  who  could  be  guilty  of  such 
conduct.  You  must  overlook  it,  Miss 
Bassick — but  you  will,  no  doubt,  do  so. 
Yes,  poor  Juliet — from  jealousy,  no  doubt 
— must  have  exaggerated  what  took  place. 
Indeed,  she  went  so  far  as  to  say  you  were 
in  Mr.  Lascelles's  arms." 

"  It  is  a  falsehood — a  vile  falsehood !" 
said  Miss  Bassick,  yielding  to  maiden  in- 
dignation. 

"  So  you  were  merely  conversing  with 
him :  the  meeting  was  accidental,  no 
doubt,  like  that  which  took  place  in  the 
drawing-room  that  evening." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  smiled,  and  the  smile 
stung  Miss  Bassick  exceedingly. 

"  You  are  all  spies !"  she  cried.  "  It  is 
disgraceful  in  persons  pretending  to  good- 
breeding." 

"  Don't  become  excited,  Miss  Bassick," 
Mrs.  Armstrong  said.  "Your  color  is 
not  becoming.  You  must  pardon  poor 
Juliet !  —  think  how  much  mortified  she 
must  be  at  the  preference  of  Mr.  Lascelles 


for  yourself.  You  are  to  be  married  at 
New  -  yr.-ir .'  That  is  not  very  far  <>1T 
now.  Will  the  ceremony  take  place  in 
church,  and  the  wedding -supper  bo  at 
Miss  Grundy's?  I  will  make  out  your 
account, as  you  will  naturally  want  money 
for  your  trousseau.  Let  me  sec,  this  is 
the  10th — would  it  be  convenient  to  you 
to  be  with  Miss  Grundy  by  the  15th  T 

"Yes,  madam;  I  will  go  at  once — and 
she  shall  know,  and  the  whole  town  shall 
know,  why  I  have  left  your  house." 

"  You  do  not  refer  to  the  meetings  in 
the  woods  as  the  reason  ?" 

"Take  care  how  you  insult  me,  Mrs. 
Armstrong!"  cried  Miss  Bassick,  in  a 
fury. 

"  Insult  you  ?"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong : 
"you  really  arc  not  worth  insulting,  Miss 
Bassick.  You  are  perfectly  at  liberty  to 
injure  my  character  or  Juliet's  by  any 
means  in  your  power  or  Miss  Grundy's, 
if  you  can.  Do  enjoy  yourself  as  much 
as  possible  by  maligning  me  to  the  com- 
mon people  in  Piedmont,  and  afterward 
in  your  more  elevated  sphere  at  AVye. 
Juliet  and  I  will  endeavor  to  survive  it. 
And  now,  as  that  is  arranged,  Miss  Bas- 
sick, and  we  have  had  a  frank  talk,  sup- 
pose we  terminate  this  interview." 

"Not  until  I  tell  you  my  opinion  of 
you !"  cried  Miss  Bassick,  furiously. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  smiled.  She  was  a 
very  quiet  and  determined  person  when 
she  restrained  her  temper. 

"I  really  don't  see  what  advantage 
there  could  be  in  your  doing  so,"  she  said ; 
"  and  I  should  be  tempted  to  tell  you  my 
opinion  of  yourself,  which  might  not  be 
flattering." 

Mrs.  Armstrong  rose  negligently. 

"  By-the-bye,  here  is  something  which 
Mr.  Lascelles  ought  to  see,"  she  said,  giv- 
ing Miss  Bassick  the  anonymous  letter. 
"The  writer  of  this  note  speaks  of  him 
as  a  forger,  with  a  wife  living.  It  is  no 
doubt  a  slander,  but,  of  course,  he  should 
be  informed  of  the  charge.  You  might 
give  him  the  note  when  he  comes  to- 
morrow morning.  Juliet  is  going  to  see 
her  friend  Frances  Gary,  and  I  am  afraid 
I  shall  have  a  headache.  You  and  Mr. 


200 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


Lascelles  will,  therefore,  have  an  opportu- 
nity to  talk  over  your  affairs  at  your  lei- 
sure, as  you  will  have  the  drawing-room 
entirely  to  yourselves  —  which  will  be 
more  agreeable,  I  suppose,  than  the 
woods." 

It  was  Mrs.  Armstrong's  great  blow. 
The  consciousness  that  she  was  going  to 
deliver  it  had  enabled  her  to  pass  tran- 
quilly through  this  very  trying  interview. 
It  was  a  cruel  coup,  but  the  lady  struck  it 
without  mercy.  Ilad  not  this  creature 
made  herself  and  Juliet  the  laughing- 
stock of  everybody  ?  Had  not  Mr.  Las- 
celles by  her  intrigues  been  wiled  away 
and  appropriated  ?  Miss  Bassick  had  re- 
sorted to  trick  and  deception  up  to  a  cer- 
tain point;  then,  finding  that  the  game 
was  in  her  hands,  she  threw  off  the  mask. 
She  triumphed,  and  did  not  take  the  least 
trouble  to  conceal  her  triumph.  What 
could  she  expect  ? 

Mrs.  Armstrong's  revenge  was  unchris- 
tian, and  not  particularly  appropriate  to 
the  Sabbath  afternoon — but  it  was  sweet. 
Sweetest  of  all  was  the  expression  of  Miss 
Bassick's  face,  as  she  seized  the  letter  and 
ran  her  eyes  over  it.  As  the  twilight  had 
come,  she  went  hastily  to  the  window  to 
read  it,  nearly  turning  her  back  on  the 
lady. 

"  A  forger — married  already  !  It  is  a 
falsehood  —  a  base  lie!"  she  said,  in  a 
husky  voice,  in  which  there  was  an  into- 
nation of  fury  almost. 

"So  your  wedding  will  have  to  be  de- 
ferred, after  all,"  said  Mrs.  Armstrong, 
Laughing. 

"  Married  1" 

Miss  Bassick's  pretty  brows  were  knit 
together,  and  her  eyes  were  like  two  coals 
of  fire. 

"  It  is  unfortunate,  and  Mr.  Lascelles 
ought  to  have  mentioned  the  little  cir- 
cumstance, I  think,"  Mrs.  Armstron 
smiling.  "He  no  doubt  lost  sight  of  it, 
though  it  seems  singular  that  he  should 
have  forgotten  it.  As  this  is  not  Utah,  it 
is  not  customary  for  a  gentleman  to  liavc 
two  wives  at  the  same  time.  The  great 
objection  to  marrying  Mr.  Lascelles  is, 
that  the  lady  who  espouses  him  in  second 


nuptials  will  occupy  a  very  peculiar  pct- 
sition ;  in  fact,  she  will  not  be  a  wife  at 
all — respectable  people  will  not  visit  her, 
and,  worse  even  than  that,  the  law  would 
interfere,  and  make  the  whole  affair  ex- 
ceedingly unpleasant." 

Miss  Bassick  was  still  glaring  at  the  let- 
ter, and  did  not  reply. 

"  That  is  your  affair,  however,"  Mrs. 
Armstrong  added,  laughing  a  little.  "  You 
are  quite  at  liberty  to  marry  somebody 
else's  husband  if  you  wish,  as  the  cere- 
mony is  not  going  to  take  place  at  Tria- 
non:" 

Miss  Bassick  whirled  around  like  a 
tigress  about  to  spring.  Mrs.  Armstrong 
was  sauntering  negligently  from  the  apart- 
ment. 

On  the  next  day  Miss  Bassick  left 
Trianon. 


LXVII. 

GENTLEMAN  JOE  TELLS  NELLY  THE  WIXD*3 
STORY. 

BOHEMIA  was  in  all  its  glory.  Not  the 
glory  of  the  summer,  when  the  slopes  of 
the  mountain  and  the  banks  of  Falling 
Water  were  clothed  in  dense  foliage  full 
of  the  songs  of  birds ;  nor  yet  the  glory  of 
the  autumn,  when  the  fading  days  touch- 
ed the  forests  hour  by  hour  with  a  deeper 
yellow  and  crimson  ;  but  the  glory,  s\\  c vt- 
er  and  sadder  if  not  so  pictmvsque,  of 
the  wonderful  Indian  Summer,  which  re- 
stores to  early  winter,  if  not  the  tender 
leaflets,  at  least  the  faint,  sweet  charm  of 
the  spring  days  and  the  childhood  of  the 
year. 

This  magical  season  had  descended 
upon  the  little  valley  of  Bohemia;  and 
the  remote  region,  nestling  down  in  the 
emhraee  of  the  mountain,  seemed  to  be 
-teeped  in  a  dreamy  languor.  Nature  re- 
members and  dreams  as  well  as  human 
bring*.  Look  at  the  silent  trees  and  the 
rock-ribbed  slopes — they  are  waiting,  \"ii 
would  say,  for  something,  and  musing 
over  the  past  days.  Sometimes  you  may 
hear  a  low  rustling  in  the  few  dead  leaves, 
though  no  wind  is  stirring.  The  country 
people  will  tell  you — and  with  truth — • 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS, 


201 


that  the  sound  foretells  snow.  But  the 
trees  are  really  laughing  and  whisper- 
ing to  each  other.  That  aeaeia  with  the 
lanceolated  leaves  and  the  sharp  black 
thorns  is  in  a  reverie.  Stretch  out  your 
tinker  and  touch  it — you  interrupt  it,  and 
it  shrinks  l>aek.  And  then  the  water  of 
the  stream  yonder  in  the  deep  hollow  be- 
tween the  high  banks — surely  you  hear 
it  talking  to  the  moss-covered  rocks,  over 
which  the  broad-leaved  flags  are  leaning, 
waiting  as  the  silent  trees  wait  for  some- 
thing that  is  coining. 

The  sunshine  was  a  mild  splendor  in 
the  air,  and  just  revealed  the  dim  head- 
lands. A  faint  smoke  hovered  over  them, 
and  in  the  distance  the  blue  ranges  melt- 
ed away  into  it.  Far  up  some  white 
clouds  were  drifting  across  the  delicate 
blue,  and  the  trailing  shadow's  passed 
slowly  along  the  side  of  the  mountain — 
not  galloping  now,  as  they  used  to  do  in 
August,  but  making  their  way  quietly,  as 
though  they  had  the  whole  day  before 
them,  and  would  arrive  in  time  at  some 
mysterious  rendezvous  in  the  mountain 
gorges. 

"  They  don't  laugh  at  me  now — I  used 
to  think  they  were  laughing  at  me,"  said 
Gentleman  Joe,  who  was  walking  along 
the  banks  of  the  Falling  Water  with  Xel- 
ly.  "  I  mean  the  cloud  shadows ; — look 
at  that  one  coming.  He  is  going  to  tell 
me  something." 

"  Now,  Gentleman  Joe,"  said  Nelly, 
looking  at  the  old  fellow  affectionately, 
and  addressing  him  as  if  he  were  a  child, 
"you  promised  me  you  would  not  talk 
so  about  the  poor  shadows,  and  the  pine- 
trees  and  all.  How  can  they  tell  you 
anything?  They  are  only  shadows,  and 
leaves  moving  in  the  wind." 

"  In  the  wind  ?  Yes,  they  move  in 
the  wind,  my  dear,"  said  Gentleman  Joe, 
smiling.  "  That  explains  the  whole  mat- 
ter; it  is  not  the  shadows  that  really 
talk,  or  the  leaves  either — it  is  the  wind. 
Did  you  never  hear  the  voice  of  the  wind  ? 
I  have  heard  it  often.  Sometimes  it 
laughs,  then  it  growls.  When  it  whis- 
pers in  the  tulip-trees,  as  the  bell-flowers 
are  opening  in  the  spring,  it  is  in  a  good- 


hninor — it  is  telling  the  tulips  about  the 
south,  where  it  has  been  travelling,  and 
the  oran-v  grOYet,  Hut  in  winter  it  i- 
very  dilTeivnt.  Have  \mi  never  listened 
to  it  when  it  was  roaring  around  the  Ca- 
bles in  the  cold,  dark  nights  i  It  is  angry 
then,  and  will  tear  up  trees  or  blow  poo 
pie  over  precipices  if  they  trifle  with  it." 

"  Ob,  Gentleman  Joe!  \\h\-  xlnmlil  you 
take  up  all  these  fancies?  Indeed,  it  is 
not  good  for  you." 

"Fancies?  They  are  not  fancies,  m\ 
dear;  and  really  it  does  me  no  harm.  I 
have  nothing  to  say  to  the  wind  when  it 
is  in  a  bad  humor — I  wait.  After  auhilc 
it  gets  over  that  and  we  have  long  talks. 
It  has  told  me  a  number  of  strange  things 
in  my  life.  The  strangest  of  all  was  what, 
it  told  me  only  yesterday." 

"What  did  it  telly  on  f 

Gentleman  Joe  shook  his  head  and  fell 
into  a  fit  of  musing. 

"  It  was  a  very  curious  story,  indeed," 
he  said,  after  awhile.  "Do  you  think 
you  would  like  to  hear  it  ?" 

Nelly  hesitated.  She  did  not  like  to 
encourage  poor  Gentleman  Joe  in  his 
vague  wanderings,  and  was  about  to  say 
that  he  had  better  tell  her  something  else, 
when  he  added, 

"  It  is  about  Crow's  Nest,  and  some- 
body who  once  lived  there." 

"  About  Crow's  Nest  2" 

"  And  old  times  there,"  said  Gentleman 
Joe,  dreamily.  "  It  is  a  very  strange 
story.  If  you  would  like  to  hear  it  I 
will  tell  you  about  it,  Nelly.  I  really 
can't  get  it  out  of  my  mind  or  under- 
stand it  —  perhaps  you  may;  and  then 
you  might  tell  me,  you  know,  Nelly." 

Nelly  looked  at  him  closely  as  he  ut- 
tered these  words.  His  voice  was  exceed- 
ingly sad.  Would  it  not  be  a  relief  to 
him  to  unburden  his  mind  ?  It  might  be. 

"Well,  tell  me  what  you  thought  the 
wind  said,  Gentleman  Joe." 

"Thought?  I  did  not  think  the  wind 
told  me.  It  really  told  me;  and  it  was 
not  very  friendly,  either,  in  the  wind — it 
has  made  me  rather  sorrowful,  for  it  is  a 
sorrowful — a  very  sorrowful  story.  *  I  re- 
member Crow's  Nest,'  the  wind  began,  *  in 


202 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


very  old  times.  It  was  part  of  a  great 
estate  which  once  covered  half  of  Bohe- 
mia and  extended  beyond ;  but  in  course 
of  time  the  Bohemian  part,  all  but  the 
Crow's  Nest  farm,  was  sold,  and  at  last 
there  were  two  brothers  who  inherited 
the  whole  property.'  Do  you  understand 
that,  Nelly?" 

"  Yes,"  she  said. 

"  Well,  the  eldest  took  one  part  of  the 
property,  and  the  youngest  the  Crow's 
Nest  farm.  It  had  a  small  house  upon  it 
— a  very  small  one — but  the  land  was 
good,  and  the  owner  set  about  improving 
it.  Then  he  fell  in  love  with  and  mar- 
ried a  young  girl  of  the  neighborhood. 
She  was  very  beautiful,  and  he  loved  her 
dearly ;  but  then  she  was  beneath  him,  as 
people  say :  she  was  an  orphan,  and  her 
father  had  been  scarcely  more  than  a 
laborer." 

"  Yes,  Gentleman  Joe." 

Nelly  was  listening  with  great  attention 
now,  and  wondering  a  little  at  the  lucid 
and  connected  narrative,  divested  of  every- 
thing like  extravagance,  which  the  old 
fellow  was  presenting. 

"  That  made  trouble,"  he  went  on,  with 
his  head  drooping — "  a  great  deal  of  trou- 
ble. Her  husband  loved  her  with  all  his 
soul,  but  his  fine  relations  turned  their 
backs  on  her.  They  had  tried  to  dis- 
suade him  when  they  heard  of  his  inten- 
tion to  marry  her,  but  as  he  loved  her  he 
only  laughed  at  them,  and  turned  his  back 
on  them.  What  was  it  to  the  man  who 
loved  her  so  much  whether  she  was  a 
Icing's  daughter  or  a  peasant's?  She  was 
herself,  which  was  enough,  and  he  only 
loved  her  ni<>iv  dearly  \\hcn  others  looked 
down  upon  her,  as  In;  ought  to  have  done. 
He  was  a  gentleman — if  he  had  not  done 
so  he  would  not  have  been  a  gentle- 
man." 

"  Yes,"  said  Nelly,  in  a  low  tone,  think- 
ing of  what  Frances  Cary  had  said  of 
Brantz  Elliot. 

"  \Vell,  the  time  passed  on,"  continued 
Gentleman  Joe,  "and  his  family  never 
carne  to  sec  them  or  took  any  notice  of 
them.  There  was  one  person  who  did — 
his  brother,  who  had  never  interfered  at 


all  in  his  marriage.  He  was  a  very  good 
brother,  not  at  all  like  the  chattering,  gab- 
bling women,  who  rolled  their  eyes  and 
shook  their  heads,  and  would  have  noth- 
ing to  do  with  the  poor  fellow  who  had 
disgraced  the  family  by  his  low  marriage. 
He  and  his  brother  never  had  an  unkind 
word,  but  the  poor  husband  was  ill  at 
ease.  He  was  suspicious,  perhaps,  and 
thought  that  his  brother,  too,  looked 
down  on  his  wife.  So  he  grew  cool  to 
him — and  he,  no  doubt,  saw  it,  and  the 
visits  became  fewer  and  fewer.  At  last 
they  stopped,  and  the  owner  of  Crow's 
Nest  was  left  to  himself  and  his  quiet 
days  in  Bohemia. 

"  They  were  very  bright  days.  He  was 
married  to  one  he  loved  better  than  he 
loved  his  life.  He  loved  the  ground  she 
walked  upon.  He  would  take  her  slip- 
per, sometimes,  and  kiss  it  because  it  had 
the  shape  of  her  foot.  You  can't  under- 
stand that.  It  is  the  way  a  man  loves 
when  he  is  in  love  with  a  good  woman. 
What  she  touches  or  what  touches  her  is 
sacred  and  beautiful.  As  to  bad  or  fool- 
ish women — and  there  are  a  great  num- 
ber of  that  sort — the  handsomer  they  are 
the  more  disagreeable  they  are ;  the  very 
sight  of  the  things  they  wear  is  distaste- 
ful, since  the  wearer  has  given  them  the 
shape  of  her  person." 

Gentleman  Joe  looked  moody,  and  a 
singular  expression  of  disdain  quite 
changed  his  whole  face.  Then  the 
vague  and  dreamy  look  came  back  to  his 
face,  and  he  said, 

"They  were  very  happy  at  Crow's 
Nest,  the  young  husband  and  the  one  he 
loved.  What  did  he  care  for  the  people 
who  never  came  to  sec  him?  One  face 
was  enough — the  face  of  his  wife.  Then 
another  face  came  —  there  was  a  little 
babv  that  prattled  and  held  out  its  small 
ro-y  anus,  and  crowed  and  ne>tled  close, 
and  made  its  father  and  mother  much 
happier  than  they  had  ever  been  before. 
But  trouble  was  coming  too — life  is  full 
of  that.  He  was  not  what  is  called  a 
business  man  —  I  mean  the  owner  of 
Crow's  Nest.  His  head  was  bad  for 
managing,  and  his  farm  went  down,  and 


VIRGINIA    nolIKMIANS. 


203 


he  fell  into  trouble.  "Hut  that  was  really 
nothing.  Tlic  world  laughs  at  you  and 
slights  you  when  you  arc  poor  and  in 
need;  but  what  does  it  matter  if  yon  can 
o-o  home  and  feel  the  arms  of  your  wife 
and  chilil  around  your  neck,  and  sec  them 
smile  on  you?  You  laugh  back  at  the 
world  then  ;  but  it  will  not  do  to  laugl 
too  much.  It  is  ;i  hard,  cruel  world,  and 
in  the  end,  if  you  don't  take  care,  it  turns 
the  laugh  on  you  and  crushes  you.  You 
might  stand  that  yourself,  perhaps,  but 
there  are  the  others — the  helpless  ones. 
It  is  hard  for  them.  They  leave  us  some- 
times, and  then  they  are  happier." 

Gentleman  Joe  looked  up  as  he  uttered 
these  words.  It  was  cither  at  the  clouds 
or  at  something  or  some  one  he  saw  be- 
yond them. 

"  One  day  she  went  away  from  him — 
I  mean  the  poor  man's  wife,"  he  contin- 
ued, in  a  very  low  tone.  "She  was  his 
angel — it  was  natural,  therefore,  that  she 
should  become  an  angel  of  God.  She 
was  almost  a  child  when  he  married  her 
and  when  she  died.  A  fever  carried  her 
off  suddenly,  and  she  died  in  his  arms, 
with  her  head  resting  upon  his  breast." 

Nelly  sobbed.  As  to  Gentleman  Joe, 
his  expression  was  that  of  a  human  being 
who  has  shed  all  the  tears  he  is  capable 
of  shedding. 

"  Well,  he  longed  for  death,"  he  said, 
"  but  it  would  not  come.  A  dull  stupor 
followed,  and  he  fell  into  despair.  But 
Heaven  was  merciful,  after  all,  since  it 
took  away  his  memory,  and  his  reason 
with  it." 

"His  reason?" 

"  Yes,  he  lost  his  reason.  Poor  man,  I 
wonder  if  he  ever  got  it  back !  He  used 
to  sit  in  the  chair  she  had  sat  in,  dream- 
ing of  old  scenes  and  seeing  the  face  of 
his  dead  wife.  He  was  not  in  his  right 
mind  then.  He  wanted  to  die,  but  he 
did  not  think  of  taking  his  own  life. 
There  was  his  child,  and  he  wished  to  see 
his  wife  again — he  will  see  her  !" 

He  raised  his  head  and  looked  upward 
as  before,  his  eyes  fixed  and  full  of  vague 
longing.  Nelly  sobbed,  and  gazed  at  him 
with  a  startled  expression. 


"Gentleman  ,loe,  what  are  you  tolling 
lie  exclaimed. 

"Tin-  ( iod's  truth—  just  what  the  wind 
told  me,  Nelly.  I've  nearly  done  n,,\\. 
Must  I  u'o  on?" 

"Yes,  ye 

"Something  had  to  !.,•  done  -  tin-re 
was  the  little  one,  and  the  dead  mother; 
they  were  all  three  alone.  The  p..«.r  man 
only  moaned,  and  broke  his  heart  with 
longing — lunging  for  the  lips,  and  eyes 
ami  the  voice  he  was  not  goin^  to  1,,-ar 
any  more.  He  sat  there  thin  king  in  this 
way,  or  trying  to  think;  but  it  era/ed 
him.  He  was  waked  suddenly.  His  |M>V 
was  crying  for  bread  !" 

"Oh,  how  pitiful!"  cried  Nelly,  with 
streaming  eyes;  "is  it  true,  Gentleman 
Joe?" 

"True?  yes,  it  is  God's  own  truth. 
His  little  boy  was  about  four  years  old, 
and  could  not  talk  very  plain,  lie  said, 
*  I  hung'y,  papa !'  and  he  cried,  and  the 
corners  of  his  mouth  were  pulled  down; 
and  he  put  his  arms  up  and  linked  me 
around  the  neck,  and  1  burst  out  crying 
for  the  first  time." 

"You?  You  speak  of  it  as  if  you  were 
the  poor  father,  Gentleman  Joe !" 

"  Did  I  ?  What  could  have  rmcle  me 
do  that,  I  wonder  ?  I  had  nothing  to  do 
with  it  —  the  wind  told  it  to  me,  and  I 
thought  you  would  like  to  hear  it:  it 
was  only  yesterday,  while  I  was  lying 
down  under  the  big  sycamore  yonder.  I 
may  have  dreamed  it,  as  I  was  dozing; 
but  I  don't  think  I  did.  The  wind  told 
it,  and  it  wouldn't  take  the  trouble  to  tell 
me  my  own  story." 

Nelly  Welles  looked  at  the  speaker 
with  astonishment.  What  did  all  this 
mean?  Was  the  poor  victim  of  fantasy 
telling  her  a  real  history  —  his  history? 
Could  that  be  possible?  lie  had  often 
referred  in  his  erratic  talk  to  his  famili- 
arity with  the  scenes  in  Bohemia,  around 
Crow's  Nest  and  along  the  stream.  Could 
it  be  possible  that  he  was  the  poor  hus- 
band and  father?  and  was  it  only  his  fan- 
tastic imagination,  the  fancy  of  his  dis- 
ordered brain,  that  the  wind  had  whis- 
pered the  strange  story  to  him,  while  all 


204 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


the  time  his  own  memory  was  dictating 
it?  Full  of  wonder,  and  looking  at  him 
with  a  long,  wistful  glance,  she  listened, 
for  the  rest  of  his  narrative,  feeling  vague- 
ly that  there  would  probably  be  some  sin- 
gular ending  to  so  singular  a  revelation. 

"  Is  that  all  ?"  she  said,  seeing  that  his 
glances  were  wandering,  as  if  the  whole 
subject  had  passed  from  his  mind. 

"Yes,  Nelly  —  no,  that  was  not  all. 
There  was  the  funeral.  She  was  taken 
away  from  him  while  he  sat  looking  at 
the  floor  —  he  could  not  move,  but  he 
heard  the  steps  of  men  coming  down- 
stairs carrying  something." 

"  Oh  me !" 

"  That  was  sad  for  the  poor  man,  but 
he  scarcely  felt  it,  as  he  was  stunned.  It 
was  on  the  same  evening  that  the  little 
one  came  crying  for  bread,  with  his  mouth 
pulled  down.  Then  a  neighbor  came  in, 
and  touched  my  shoulder,  and  I  saw  he 
was  crying.  He  went  and  got  some  bread, 
and  called  a  servant  to  bring  some  milk, 
and  when  little  Harry  had  finished  eating 
he  stooped  down  and  kissed  him.  He 
was  the  uncle  of  the  child,  and  a  very 
good  man  —  I  could  tell  you  his  name. 
*  It  won't  do  to  leave  the  baby  here,'  he 
said,  '  I  am  going  to  take  him  home  with 
me.'  When  he  said  this  the  child's  fa- 
ther sprung  upon  him  and  tore  the  boy 
from  him.  '  You  shall  not  have  my  child !' 
he  said.  '  He  is  all  I  have  left  of  her — 
you  shall  not  take  him !'  The  good 
neighbor  tried  to  persuade  him,  but  he 
would  not  listen  to  him,  and  the  neighbor 
went  away.  *  I  will  come  again  to-mor- 
row,' he  said ;  *  it  is  better  for  the  boy,  as 
he  cannot  stay  with  you.'  He  then  left 
the  house,  and  the  father  sat  down  hold- 
ing liis  child  in  his  arms  and  trying  to 
think.  He  was  out  of  his  mind,  you  see, 
but  he  understood  one  thing.  They  were 
going  to  take  his  boy  from  him  ;  they 
should  not  do  that;  he  would  prevent 
them.  Before  morning  he  took  his  child 
in  his  arms  and  went  away  from  Crow's 
Nest." 

Nelly  sobbed. 

"  And  what  became  of  him  and  his  lit- 
tle boy  ?"  she  said. 


Gentleman  Joe  put  his  hand  to  his 
forehead  and  tried  to  think.  He  was  so 
much  absorbed  in  this  effort  that  he  did 
not  hear  the  sound  of  wheels  approaching. 

"Where  did  he  go?  That  is  hard, 
very  hard  to  say." 

He  smiled  sadly — it  was  a  faint  sun- 
shine on  the  old  face,  but  still  a  sort  of 
sunshine.  This  sudden  change  of  mood 

O 

was  one  of  the  idiosyncrasies  of  his  fan- 
tastic temperament. 

"  I  can  hardly  tell  you  where  the  poor 
fellow  did  go,  Nelly,"  he  said :  "to  a 
great  many  places — in  fact,  almost  every- 
where." 

The  noise  of  wheels  drew  nearer,  but 
either  the  laughter  of  the  water  or  a  sud- 
den wind  which  blew  from  the  mountain 
made  the  sound  inaudible. 

"  lie  went  on  all  day  with  his  little  boy 
in  his  arms,"  said  Gentleman  Joe,  smiling, 
"and  in  the  evening  met  a  circus  which 
had  halted  in  a  wood  to  feed  the  horses. 
Circus  people  are  very  kind,  and  they 
gave  him  plenty  to  eat.  The  big  fellows 
danced  the  boy,  and  he  pulled  their 
beards  and  laughed.  That  made  friends, 
and  they  joined  the  company,  and  stayed 
with  it  for  a  great  many  years,  and — " 

A  carriage  came  out  of  the  foliage  with- 
in a  few  yards  of  them.  It  was  the  W\  e 
coach  with  General  Lascelles  in  it,  on  his 
way  to  Daddy  Welles's,  and  as  it  had 
reached  the  foot  of  the  ascent,  the  driver 
stopped  to  ask  if  that  was  the  road. 

This  question  was  addressed  to  Gentle- 
man Joe,  but  he  took  no  notice  of  it. 
He  was  looking  intently  at  General  Las- 
celles, who  was  also  looking  fixedly  at  him. 
Gentleman  Joe  then  walked  up  to  the 
carriage  with  a  bright  smile  upon  hi-  fftOGJ 
and  said, 

u  I  low  do  you  do,  brother  ?  Don't  you 
know  me?  You  have  not  forgotten  Joe?" 

General  Lascelles  looked  at  the  speaker 
with  profound  astonishment.  Then  his 
face  suddenly  flushed,  and  tears  rushed  to 
his  eyes.  1 1  is  whole  frame  shook,  and 
with  an  unsteady  hand  lie  opened  the 
door  of  the  carriage  and  got  out,  trem- 
bling as  he  did  so. 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you,  brother. 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS, 


205 


Did  you  think  I  was  dead?"  said  Gentle-! 
man  Joe. 

General  Lascelles,  uttering  a  great  sol), 
put  liis  anus  around  the  poor  old  fellow 
and  drew  him  close  to  him. 

"God  bo  thanked!"  he  said,  in  a  low 
voice;  "this  is  the  happiest  day  of  my 
|fe,Joe!" 

'•  Why,  you  are  crying,  brother!"  said 
Gentleman  Joe,  smiling. 


LXVIII. 

A    MEETING    OF    MOONSHINERS. 

HALF  an  hour  after  this  scene  Gen- 
eral Lascelles,  Gentleman  Joe,  and  Daddy 
Welles  were  shut  up  in  the  sitting-room 
of  the  small  mountain-house,  and  the  old 
master  of  Wye  was  listening  with  deep 
emotion  to  the  story  of  his  brother's  ad- 
ventures after  his  departure  from  Crow's 
Nest.  The  poor  old  ex-clown  seemed  to 
have  waked  up  from  his  long  night  of 
hallucination,  and  evidently  recalled  now 
his  whole  past  life  and  his  own  individ- 
uality. AY  as  this  the  result  of  the  sud- 
den appearance  of  the  face  of  his  brother, 
which  supplied  the  missing  link  in  the 
chain  of  memory  ?  It  is  difficult  to  say. 
It  is  always  difficult,  almost  impossible  to 
follow  the  operations  of  the  mind  diseased, 
and  trace  out  the  steps  by  which  it  re- 
turns to  reason.  A  struggle  was  plainly 
going  on  in  the  brain  of  the  poor  man,  as 
lie  had  called  himself ;  but  happiness  had 
evidently  already  worked  an  extraordinary 
change  in  him.  His  mind  and  memory 
had  become  lucid,  if  not  strong  yet. 

The  general  was  soon  in  possession  of 
all  the  facts.  Ills  brother,  as  he  had  told 
Nelly,  had  married  a  young  girl  of  very 
humble  family — she  had  died,  and  he  had 
gone  away  with  his  boy  to  avoid  a  sepa- 
ration from  him.  The  person  who  wish- 
ed to  take  the  boy  had  been  Daddy 
Welles,  whose  sister  had  been  the  wife  of 
Gentleman  Joe.  When  the  old  wanderer 
reappeared  at  Crow's  Xest,  Daddy  Welles  ' 
had  at  once  recognized  him ;  but  it  seem- ' 
ed  impossible  to  separate  him  from  his 


associate^,  and  the  attempt,  had  not  been 
made.  Nor  had  I>addv  Welles  informal 
(Jeneral  Laserllrs  of  his  return.  A  lurk- 
ing sentiment  of  pride  deterred  the  moun- 
taineer. (Jentleman  . !.»,•'>  family  had 
looked  down  upon  him  for  his  Welles  al- 
liance, and  as  the  I>addy  was  a  proud  old 
fellow,  after  his  fashion,  he  said  nothing 
HOW.  He  liked  General  Laseelles  peisoli- 
ally,  but  would  have  him  discover  for 
himself  that  his  brother  and  the  boy  \\eiv 
home  again. 

This  came  out  during  their  convnxi- 
tion,  and  the  general  shook  his  head  sor- 
rowfully. 

"That  was  a  foolish  thing  for  you  to 
do,  old  friend,"  he  said  to  Daddy  Welles 
"  A  man's  brother  is  his  brother,  and  .)•>,• 
is  the  only  brother  I  have.  But  let  that 
go.  Where  is  Harry,  Joe  ?  I  am  going 
to  take  you  both  to  live  with  me  at  Wye." 

But  Gentleman  Joe,  who  was  smiling, 
shook  his  head. 

"  We  can't  leave  Mouse,  brother.  M<  >u<e 
and  the  Lefthander  are  old  friends  of  ours, 
and  we  are  very  happy  at  Crow's  Nest." 

"  But  you  can't  stay  in  that  cabin,  Joe ! 
I  will  never  consent  to  that." 

"It  is  a  very  good  cabin,  and  I  have 
been  very  happy  there,"  said  Gentleman 
Joe,  gently. 

"  Impossible !"  the  general  exclaimed. 
"  Why,  the  house  must  be  unfurnished. 
What  became  of  all  your  effects — I  mean 
the  furniture  of  the  house?" 

"  I  really  don't  know,"  said  Gentleman 
Joe,  serenely. 

"They  are  stored  away  here,"  Daddy 
Welles  said ;  "  I  took  care  of  them.  The 
land  was  sold  under  a  mortgage,  you  know 
— or  perhaps  you  don't  know,  Gentleman 
Joe." 

The  general  reflected,  and  then  consult- 
ed with  Daddy  Welles.  It  seemed  best 
for  the  present  to  leave  Gentleman  .Joe 
and  Harry  at  Crow'  The  furni- 

ture could  be  moved  over,  and  the  house 
made  habitable,  and  in  time  the  wan- 
derers could  be  persuaded  to  come  and 
live  at  Wye. 

"  I  remember  Wye ;  you  know  we 
played  there  when  we  were  boys,  broth- 


206 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


er,"  old  Gentleman  Joe  said,  cheerily. 
"I  love  the  old  place,  and  would  like 
to  see  it  again,  but  I  never  could  leave 
Mouse  and  the  Lefthander." 

"  Well,  don't  leave  them,  Joe;  at  least 
for  the  present,"  said  General  Lascelles, 
rising. 

This  movement  was  the  result  of  the 
appearance  of  two  or  three  horsemen  in 
front  of  the  house.  These  were  Mr.  Bar- 
ney Jones  and  other  gentlemen  of  the 
moonshine  fraternity,  summoned  by 
Daddy  Welles  to  meet  the  general,  who 
was  coming  on  this  morning  to  have  a 
talk  with  them.  They  dismounted  and 
came  into  the  yard,  and  the  general  and 
Daddy  Welles  went  out  and  met  them. 
Others  were  seen  coming  up  the  hill. 
They  were  a  nondescript  set,  in  outland- 
ish costumes,  evidently  belonging  to  the 
class  of  small  farmers  and  hunters.  A 
glance  at  the  faces  was  sufficient  to  show 
that  they  were  not  men  of  bad  character. 
The  sidelong  look  of  the  vagabond,  con- 
scious of  being  a  vagabond,  was  wholly 
wanting.  The  eyes  looked  straight  into 
your  own,  and  the  erect  figures  and  firm 
steps  were  not  the  figures  or  steps  of 
tramps  or  malefactors.  Their  moonshine 
business  was  illegal,  certainly,  but  it  was 
plain  that  they  did  not  regard  it  as  vio- 
lating the  deeper  laws  of  morals. 

General  Lascelles  was  an  old  acquaint- 
ance of  most  of  the  moonshine  people. 
lie  had  ridden  to  and  fro  through  the 
mountain,  and  the  valley  of  Bohemia, 
electioneering  for  Congress,  a  long  time 
before,  and  many  of  the  persons  who  now 
greeted  him  had  entertained  him  and 
voted  for  him.  lie  was  a  popular  man 
with  them.  His  cordial  manners  and 
bonhoin'u-  had  made  friends  of  all  elates. 
i  -  hard,  in  fact,  to  resist  General  Las- 
n-IIes  \\hen  he  mingled  with  a  crowd, 
holding  his  hand  out  to  everybody,  and 
calling  everybody  by  his  name.  It  was 
a  natural  gift,  this  cordiality;  not  calcu- 
lation. He  was  friendly,  and  took  an  in- 
terest in  people,  and  they  were  friendly 
to  him  in  return. 

The  general  at  once  proceeded  to  say 
what  he  had  come  to  say.  "  The  moon- 


shine business,"  he  said,  "  was  illegal,  and 
had  better  be  discontinued.  There  would 
be  trouble,  as  the  Government  was  bound 
to  execute  the  laws,  and,  if  civil  process 
was  not  sufficient,  to  call  in  the  military 
arm.  For  the  law  was  the  law.  It 
might  appear  oppressive,  but  it  wa<  on 
the  statute-book.  He  himself  was  a( 
Virginian,  and  he  was  talking  to  Vir- 
ginians. They  knew  him,  and  it  was  not 
necessary  for  him  to  say  on  which  side 
he  was.  But  if  troops  were  sent,  as  it 
seemed  they  would  be,  there  would  be 
fighting  if  the  business  went  on.  That 
would  be  bad,  for  one  side  would  wear 
blue  and  the  other  gray,  and  it  would  be 
better  for  all  parties  that  Bohemia  should 
not  see  any  more  of  what  took  place  there 
in  old  times.  There  would  be  a  great 
deal  of  hot  blood,  and  more  dead  men — 
which  would  be  unfortunate.  The  best 
course  would  be  to  shut  up  the  stills,  and 
not  be  at  home  when  the  marshal  came — " 

Here  a  noise  behind  the  crowd  sudden- 
ly attracted  their  attention,  and  turning 
round  they  saw  the  United  States  marsh  il 
riding  up,  with  three  or  four  companions, 
to  the  gate. 

General  Lascelles  ceased  his  discourse, 
fixing  his  eyes  on  the  intruders.  He  was 
evidently  displeased,  and  the  marshal  as 
plainly  more  so  than  himself.  He  dis- 
mounted, and  made  a  sign  to  the  rest  to 
follow  him.  He  then  walked  into  the 
gate  followed  by  the  men,  and  approach- 
ed the  group  of  moonshiners. 

"  What  is  the  meaning  of  this  assnn- 
blage?"  said  the  marshal,  in  an  angry 
tone,  addressing  Daddy  Welles. 

"  Why,  good-day,  friend,"  the  Daddy 
said,  cordially;  "glad  to  sec  you.  So 
you  are  back  agin?" 

"  I  asked  the  meaning  of  all  this.  I 
recognize  in  this  crowd  persons  I  know 
to  be  connected  with  illicit,  distilling. 
What  does  it  mean?  I  ask  you,  (leneral 
Lascelles — you  can  tell  me,  perhaps,  and 
will  do  so  if  you  have  a  decent  respect 
for  the  law." 

The  marshal  wa-  growing  angry,  and 
sjn.ke  imperiously  for  that  reason,  per- 
haps. It  was  unfortunate,  as  well  as  un- 


VIRGINIA    r,(»l!i:.MIA.\S. 


207 


becoming,  however,  that  ho  should  have 
adopted  such  a  mode  of  address  to  a  per- 
son like  (Jem-mi  Lascelles. 

"I  have  more  respect  for  the  law  than 
for  some  of  its  officers,"  said  the  general, 
bending  his  brows.  "You  ask  what  the 
meaning  of  this  assembly  is.  I  ask  you 
in  your  turn  what  is  the  meaning  of  your 
ice  here,  sir?1' 

*' I  came  to  perform  my  duty." 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  your  duty  '." 

"To  arrest  law-breakers! — I  see  them 
all  around  me." 

"  liy  what  warrant?1' 

'*  My  orders  arc  sufficient  warrant,  and 
I  will  not  be  intimidated,  sir!  I  am  not 
to  be  intimidated  in  the  performance  of 
my  official  duty.'' 

"Where  are  your  orders,  sir?1' 

"  I  am  not  bound  to  show  them  to  you, 
sir — unless  you  force  me  to  arrest  you." 

The  general  frowned. 

"  I  beg  you  will  do  so,"  he  said. 
"Have  you  orders  to  read  the  riot  act 
and  fire  on  the  crowd?  I  am  one  of 
them,  and  I  warn  yon,  if  you  attempt 
that,  we  will  fire  back  on  you." 

"  You  resist  the  law  !" 

"Yrou  outrage  it.  By  what  authority 
do  you  attempt  to  disperse  a  meeting  of 
Virginia  people  ?  .  Are  we  free  men  or 
slaves?  I  have  come  here  to  meet  my 
friends,  and  they  have  come  to  meet  me. 
We  are  talking  with  each  other — is  that 
&t  violation  of  law  ?  I  notify  you,  sir, 
that  if  you  attempt  to  arrest  any  one 
without  an  express  warrant,  which  you 
exhibit,  it  will  be  at  your  personal  risk. 
I  speak  for  myself,  at  least." 

The  general  had  not  raised  his  voice, 
but  he  evidently  meant  what  he  said.  A 
rifle  was  leaning  against  the  porch  by 
him,  and  he  quietly  took  it  up  and 
cocked  it. 

"  Where  is  your  warrant,"  he  said, 
"for  arresting  any  person  you  meet?  If 
it  is  formal  authority  I  will  submit,  and 
test  the  question  in  the  courts.  If  you 
act  without  authority,  and  attempt  to  ar- 
rest any  one  here,  you  will  never  leave 
this  spot  alive !" 

There  really  seemed  to  be  something 


in  this  threat.  The  \Mt.-rs  of  I  >uddy 
Welles  had  brought  their  rilles  with 
them,  and  deposited  them  in  the  passage 
of  the  holier.  Now  they  sllddelil  , 
j'eaivd,  and  the  «-r..\\d  \\  as  armed  in  the 
twinkling  of  an 

"So  you,  a  magistrate,  abet  the  enemies 
of  the  law,  sir!"  shouted  the  marshal. 

"  I  resist  the  absurdity  of  your  demand 
that    I  shall  not  visit  my  friend-,  - 
torted  the  general. 

"These  people  arc  your  friend-,  then  .'" 

4>  Yes,  they  are  my  friends." 

"They  are  law-breakers,  and  liable  to 
arrest  at  any  moment." 

"  Your  authority,  sir  ?" 

"You  yourself  promised  the  search- 
warrants." 

"Yrcs;  why  were  thev  not  applied 
for?" 

"I  visited  your  house  and  heard  you 
had  driven  in  this  direction,  and  followed 
you." 

"  To  make  arrests,  sir  ?" 

"  If  necessary.  I  have  the  right  to  de- 
mand the  warrants  now." 

Ilcre  Daddy  Welles  interposed. 

"Gineral,"  he  said,  mildly — very  mild- 
ly, indeed,  for  a  man  fingering  a  rifle 
trigger — "  if  you  sign  the  sarch-warrants 
you  won't  mind  signing  a  have-his-car- 
cass  too,  will  you  ?" 

The  marshal  scowled  at  the  Daddy,  but 
said  nothing.  He  had  grown  mueh  calm- 
er after  some  moments'  reflection,  and 
was  really  as  much  averse  to  any  trouble 
as  General  Laseelles.  This  did  not  arise, 
from  a  want  of  nerve — the  marshal  was 
quite  a  brave  man;  but  IK;  was  really  a 
very  good-hearted  man,  and  felt  that  he 
had  acted  precipitately. 

"Well,  sir,"  he  said,  at  li-ngili,  u  I  will 
not  ask  for  the  warrants  to-day:  I  have 
searched  this  house,  and  I  see  it  would 
be  a  farce  to  repeat  the  search  this  nmrn- 
ing — I  should  do  so  at  all  hazards  if  I 
thought  it  my  duty." 

"Yrou  would  be  right,"  said  the  gen- 
eral. 

"And  you  arc  right,  sir,  in  intimating 
that  a  general  order  to  arn-t  -u-picious 
people  is  too  loose — I  acknowledge  that. 


£08 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


It  is  my  duty  to  inform  those  around 
me,  however,  that  the  illicit  distilleries 
will  be  suppressed  by  military  force,  if 
necessary,  and  the  persons  engaged  in  the 
business  arrested  and  brought  to  trial  in 
the  Federal  courts." 

"  Without  a  have-his-carcass !"  sighed 
Daddy  Welles. 

The  marshal  looked  at  Daddy  Welles 
with  a  grim  smile  on  his  lips,  and  said, 

"  I'll  get  hold  of  you  yet,  you  cunning 
old  fox !  Fox  and  goose  now,  and  I  am 
the  goose,  it  seems.  But  in  the  long 
run  the  goose  will  get  the  better  of  the 
fox." 

Having  brought  himself  to  take  this 
philosophic  view  of  the  circumstances, 
the  marshal  scowled  at  the  moonshiners, 
bowed  stiffly  to  General  Lascelles,  who 
punctiliously  returned  his  salute,  and  rode 
away  with  his  associates. 

Soon  afterward  the  moonshiners  dis- 
persed also,  the  general  renewing  his  ad- 
vice to  them  to  shut  up  the  stills,  and 
either  leave  home  for  a  short  time  or  re- 
move all  traces  of  their  occupation.  A 
vague  murmur  was  the  only  reply  to  this 
advice :  it  was  not  plain  what  they  were 
determined  to  do ;  and  leaving  the  matter 
in  this  ambiguous  condition,  they  retired. 
The  general,  looking  after  them  as  they 
rode  off,  said  to  Daddy  Welles, 

"  They  are  a  hard  set  to  manage — they 
will  go  their  own  gait,  as  the  Scotch  say. 
What  will  they  do,  Daddy  Welles?" 

kk  \Vell,  I  reckon  they'll  be  guided 
by  circum'unces,  gineral,"  returned  the 
Daddy. 

"  You  mean  they  will  fight.*' 
"They  mought,  if  they're  pushed  too 
close." 

"  It  will  be  unlucky — and  you  will  be 
one  of  the  fighting  men  ?" 

"To  be  BUreF  said  Daddy  \\Yllrs. 
•  •heel-fully,  "  if  there's  fighting  ;  but  that's 
nut  likely.  I'm  gittin'  old,  n-.w.  and  I'm 
a  peaceful  man,  gineral  ;  but  you  must 
make  allowances  for  us  poor  mounting 
folks,  that  have  wintered  and  summered 
the  Yankee  troopers  in  Bohemia.  \Ye 
don't  like  'cm  much." 

"  Well,  you  and  your  friends  had  bet- 


ter get  over  that.  Don't  you  remember' 
what  General  Lee  said  to  the  lady  who 
wished  her  sons  to  be  educated  to  hate 
the  Yankees?" 

"  What  was  that,  gineral  ?" 

"He  said, 'Don't  teach  your  sons  to 
liate  the  United  States,  madam — we  are 
all  Americans  now  !'  " 

"  Did  the  gineral  say  that  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Well,  I  thought  he  was  a  good  old 
Virginian"  said  Daddy  Welles,  thought- 
fully ;  "  leastways  /  am,  and  I  don't  reckon. 
I'll  ever  be  anything  else — I'm  too  old. 
But,  then,  a  man  can't  tell ;  maybe  some 
o'  these  days  I'll  git  to  be  an  American,  as 
you  call  it.  I'll  try,  but  it'll  be  a  mighty 
hard  job,  gineral." 

General  Lascelles  laughed  with  evident 
enjoyment  of  these  unpatriotic  views  of 
Daddy  Welles. 

"  Well,"  he  said,  "  you  are  right,  The 
separate  sticks  in  the  fagot  remain  sticks, 
in  spite  of  all.  They  are  harder  to  break 
bound  together,  but  they  are  not  a  solid 
block.  Enough  of  politics,  Daddy.  I  am 
going  to  take  Joe  with  me  now,  and  go 
over  to  Crow's  Nest  and  see  my  nephew 
Harry !" 

The  intonation  of  his  voice  was  joyful. 
The  old  face  flushed,  and  he  said,  as  he 
had  said  before, 

"  This  is  the  happiest  day  of  my  life  I" 

"  You  are  right,  brother,"  said  Gentle- 
man Joe,  with  a  cheerful  smile.  "  I  don't 
think  I  ever  saw  the  sun  shine  so  bright 
as  it  does  to-day !" 

"  \Yell,  come  on,  old  fellow  !  We  are 
going  to  look  up  Harry." 

<  lent  Icman  Joe  shook  his  head. 

k'  \Ve  are  not  likely  to  find  him  at 
Crow's  Nest,  brother."" 

'?Why  not?" 

u  Mo  has  gone  to  see  his  sweetheart,  I 
reckon.'! 

"  His  sweetheart! — has  Harry  a  sweet- 
heart?" 

M  Mouse  says  so.  She  is  very  pretty. 
H'-r  name  is  Frances  Cary." 

"Frances  Can!  Has  Harry  fallen  in 
love  with  Frances  Gary  '" 

"  I  really  don't  know,  but  something  or 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


209 


other  takes  him  in  that  direction  every 
day  or  two — maybe  to  catch  a  sight  of 
her;  you  know  young  men  are  given  to 
that,  1. rot  her." 

u  Well !"  the  general  exelaimed.  M  F.ut 
it  wouldn't  be  a  bad  match,  Joe !  Well, 
well  —  but  there  is  the  carriage.  Come, 
get  in  ;  I  know  the  road.  Come  to  W\  ••, 
Daddy,  and  tell  me  if  anything  happens 
— this  moonshine  business  weighs  on  my 
mind." 

And  with  a  grasp  of  the  Daddy's  hand 
General  Lascelles  got  into  his  carriage,  fol- 
lowed by  Gentleman  Joe,  and  directed  old 
James  to  drive  to  Crow's  Nest  by  the 
way  of  the  ford. 


LXIX. 

A   FORTUNATE    VICTIM    OP    MISFORTUNE. 

IT  was  late  in  the  afternoon  on  this 
same  day  when  Brantz  Elliot  rode  up  to 
the  mountain -house  on  his  return  from 
Piedmont- 
He  had  ridden  to  the  village  to  engage 
his  seat  in  the  stage,  as  he  intended,  on 
the  very  next  day,  to  return  to  New  York. 
This  resolution  had  been  forced  upon 
him  at  last.  There  was  evidently  no 
hope  of  inducing  Nelly  to  marry  him. 
The  girl  was  more  determined  than  ever 
that  she  would  not  take  a  step  which 
would  result  in  his  unhappiness,  and  he 
found  it  utterly  impossible  to  change  her 
resolution. 

Brantz  Elliot  had  been  thus  compel- 
led to  accept  his  fate,  and  tried  to  accept 
it  calmly ;  but  it  was  a  hard  task.  He 
loved  Nelly  Welles  now  with  all  the 
strength  of  his  being,  and  had  set  out  to 
engage  his  seat  in  the  stage  under  the 
profoundest  depression.  Nelly  had  seen 
his  face  as  he  went  away,  and  retired  to 
her  room,  and  indulged  in  a  hearty  cry. 
It  was  hard  for  her  to  give  him  up — very 
hard  indeed.  The  future  without  the 
young  man  seemed  a  weary  blank;  but 
it  was  of  his  happiness  that  she  was  think- 
ing. If  her  action  seems  fanciful,  and  her 
motive  exaggerated,  let  us  respect  it  — 
there  are  not  so  many  instances  of  it. 
14 


She  was  looking  out  of  an  upper  win- 
dow when  he  rode  up,  her  head  leaning 
upon  her  hand.  Sin-  was  almo>t  afraid 
to  look  at  his  sad  fa«v,  but  she  could  not 
resist,  the  temptation.  Tin-re  \\as  about 
him  the  nameless  eharm  that  surrounds 
the  person  who  is  beloved. 

"Oh,  if  I  was  only  worthy  of  him  !— 
if  it  would  not  be  so  unequal ! — if  he  \va^ 
poor,  as  we  are,  and  would  not  be  ashamed 
of  me !" 

Brantz  Elliot  rode  up  and  dismounted. 
His  face  was  not  all  sad.  What  did  it 
mean?  He  came  into  the  house  hum- 
ming a  song — he  was  actually  laughing, 
too !  Daddy  Welles  met  him  at  the  door 
and  greeted  him  cheerfully,  and  Brantz 
Elliot,  instead  of  sighing,  cried, 

"  I'm  as  hungry  as  a  hawk,  Daddy ! 
Is  there  any  dinner  for  me  ?  I  hope  you 
haven't  eaten  everything  in  the  house." 

Is  there  something  in  male  hunger 
which  appeals  to  the  female  heart  ?  One 
would  say  so.  As  soon  as  Brantz  Elliot 
went  to  his  chamber  to  make  his  toilet,  as 
he  always  did  after  riding,  Nelly  slipped 
down-stairs,  set  the  table  with  rapid  and 
skilful  hands,  placed  a  cold  ham  and 
whatever  else  the  cupboard  contained 
upon  it,  arranged  his  seat — the  one  he 
liked  best — and  retired  quietly  to  the  sit- 
ting-rooni  opposite,  where  she  was  reading 
with  much  interest  in  a  tattered  newspa- 
per when  Brantz  Elliot  came  down-stairs. 

As  soon  as  he  had  finished  his  dinner 
he  went  into  the  sitting-room  and  lit  a 
cigar. 

"  I  know  you  don't  object  to  smoke, 
Nelly,"  he  said. 

"  Oh  no !" 

"  Smoking  is  a  good  thing.  It  drives 
away  dull  care,  and  is  a  dead  shot  for  the 
blue-devils !" 

It  was  a  long  time  since  Brantz  Elliot 
had  spoken  in  that  tone.  His  voice 
laughed  like  his  lips,  and  he  was  plainly 
in  the  most  joyous  mood  imaginable. 
This  was  a  mystery  to  her,  and  caused 
her  a  pang.  But  if  he  was  not  unhappy 
at  leaving  her,  it  was  all  the  better. 

"  I  am  glad  you  are  in  good  spirits," 
she  said,  trying  to  speak  cheerfully. 


210 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"Riding  always  makes  me  gay,"  he 
said,  laughing,  "  like  walking.  And  that 
reminds  me  that  I  ought  to  walk  over 
and  see  my  friends  at  Falling  Water  be- 
fore I  leave  Bohemia.  It  is  a  beautiful 
afternoon.  Would  you  like  to  go  and 
see  your  dear  Frances  ?" 

He  was  laughing  still.  What  did  it 
mean  ?  Nelly  felt  like  crying. 

"  I  don't  feel  well  this  afternoon,"  she 
murmured. 

"  Then  the  stroll  will  be  good  for  you. 
Do  come,  Nelly.  I  shall  be  so  lonesome." 

"  I  don't  think—" 

"  Well  it  is  wrong  to  think,  so  you  are 
perfectly  right  1  Say  you'll  go,  without 
thinking  about  it.  There  never  was  such 
an  evening.  Look  at  that  faint  new 
moon  yonder,  like  a  silver  skiff  following 
the  sun  as  he  is  setting.  The  air  is  as 
mild  as  summer.  It  is  not  more  than 
a  mile  or  so  to  Falling  Water;  and  I'll 
bring  you  back  soon  after  dark,  Nelly." 

Nelly  tried  to  resist,  but  had  not  the 
courage  to  do  so.  The  temptation  was 
too  great.  It  was  their  last  evening  to- 
gether ;  she  would  not  hear  his  voice  any 
more  very  soon;  so  she  yielded,  and  they 
set  out  for  Falling  Water. 

They  always  remembered  this  walk 
afterward.  Certain  scenes  become  the 
frames  in  which  the  pictures  of  memory 
are  set,  and  are  never  separated  from 
them.  The  faint  new  moon  was  sailing 
through  light  clouds,  tinted  with  orange 
by  the  sunset,  and  the  stream  which  ran 
beside  them  seemed  to  laugh  and  prattle 
to  them  as  they  followed  the  path  along 
its  banks.  The  sycamores  were  leafless 
now,  and  there  was  no  verdure  but  that  of 
the  cedars  and  evergreen-pines  along  the 
little  watercourse  and  on  the  slopes ;  but 
the  air  was  so  calm  and  soft  that  it  was 
difficult  to  realize  that  the  season  was  not 
June. 

"  This  is  the  very  path  we  took  that- 
day  when  you  fell  into  the  water,  Nelly," 
said  Brantz  Elliot.  "  Have  you  forgotten 
that  day?  I  have  not.  That  wa-  tin- 
only  time  I  ever  kissed  you — and  I  began 
to  love  you  after  that !" 

Nelly's  head  sunk  in  spite  of  herself, 


and  her  bosom  heaved.  She  was  only 
conscious  of  one  thing  —  that  if  she  at- 
tempted to  speak  she  would  burst  into 
tears. 

"It  was  not  so  strange  that  I  should 
love  you  after  being  nearly  drowned  with 
you,  Nelly !"  he  said.  "  A  man  likes  a 
girl  better  after  going  under  with  her, 
and  not  expecting  to  see  daylight  any 
more.  Here  is  the  log.  It  is  another 
one— the  mountain  people  were  obliging 
enough  to  throw  it  across  to  get  to  Pied- 
mont this  way — I  wonder  if  it  will  break 
with  us  again." 

They  were  already  crossing. 

"  Take  care !"  said  Brantz  Elliot,  who 
was  holding  her  hand;  "if  you  fall  in 
again,  I'm  not  sure  I'll  jump  after  you ! 
But  I  would,  too — the  water  is  shallow 
now,  and  there's  no  danger !" 

Nelly  was  in  a  maze.  What  was  the 
meaning  of  her  companion's  tone  ?  It 
was  one  of  actual  hilarity.  Could  he 
speak  in  that  manner  if  he  was  really  de- 
pressed at  the  prospect  of  leaving  her? 
She  colored  slightly.  Then  she  drew 
away  the  hand  which  he  was  holding,  os- 
tensibly to  raise  her  skirt  and  avoid  tread- 
ing upon  it.  A  moment  afterward  they 
were  over,  and  following  a  path  covered 
with  a  deep  carpet  of  brown  pine  tags, 
which  wound  through  a  thicket  in  the 
direction  of  Falling  Water. 

There  is  nothing  more  picturesque  than 
a  path  winding  away  before  you,  either 
across  fields  or  through  woodlands.  It 
seems  to  beckon  and  say,  "  Come,  I  will 
lead  you  home  to  your  bright  fireside, 
where  smiles  and  fond  arms  are  awaiting 
you."  It  may  run  through  lonely  scenes 
and  gathering  darkness,  but  that  is  noth- 
ing. You  have  only  to  follow  it,  and  it 
will  take  you  home — if  you  follow  it. 

Sometimes,  if  you  have  a  companion 
ami  an;  talking,  you  do  not  follow  it; 
you  unwittingly  take  a  side-path,  as  NYllv 
and  Brantz  Elliot  did.  This  obliqued  in 
a  gradual  and  very  sneaking  manner  to 
the  left;  they  continued  to  pursue  it, 
gradually  ascending,  until  it  ended  at  last 
on  the  summit  of  the  high  ground  south 
of  and  above  the  ford,  at  Lover's  Leap, 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


I'll 


where  Mr.  Uu'v<rles  had   been   conducted 

DO 

l.y  tlu-  Lefthander. 

"  Why,  we've  taken  the  wrong  path, 
Nelly  !"  exclaimed  Brantz  Elliot ;  "  but  it 
is  not  important — we  have  not  far  to  go 
back,  and  it  was  wortli  making  a  mistake 
to  see  this  view." 

Was  it  a  mistake?  Nelly  asked  her- 
self. Brantz  Elliot  knew  the  country  per- 

fcT.lv. 

"I  have  been  here  before,"  he  said, 
laughing,  "but  perhaps  you  have  not. 
This  is  Lover's  Leap,  where  some  forlorn 
lover,  they  say,  put  an  end  to  himself. 
Fm  glad  I'm  not  like  him.  Let  me  show 
you  where  they  say  he  leaped  off." 

He  took  Nelly's  hand  and  drew  her  to- 
ward the  edge  of  the  precipice — a  sheer 
descent  of  about  fifty  feet  to  the  water. 
A  single  pine-tree  grew  from  the  rock — 
it  was  that  under  which  the  Lefthander 
had  taken  his  seat.  Far  down  beneath 
them  the  current  broke  in  foam  over  the 
rocks  in  its  channel. 

Nelly  looked  down  and  then  drew  back, 
clinging  to  Brantz  Elliot's  hand,  and 
drawing  him  with  her. 

"  It  makes  me  dizzy,"  she  said,  in  an 
agitated  voice;  "come  back!" 

"  I  am  not  going  to  jump  over,"  he  said. 

"You  might  fall." 

"  I  wouldn't  like  to  fall  now,  Nelly." 

She  looked  up  quickly.  His  whole 
voice  had  changed  in  an  instant  to  deep 
earnestness.  As  their  eyes  met  Nelly 
blushed — he  was  looking  at  her  with  so 
much  tenderness  that  her  heart  throbbed 
as  she  caught  the  glance. 

"  I  have  something  to  say  to  you,  Nel- 
ly— do  you  know  what  it  is  ?"  he  said. 
"It  is  not  what  I  have  said  to  you  so 
often  before.  You  can't  guess  what  it  is. 
It  is  a  misfortune — a  great  misfortune,  as 
the  world  would  call  it — and  has  filled  me 
with  delight." 

She  looked  at  him  with  a  startled  ex- 
pression, murmuring, 

"A  misfortune — to  you?" 

"Yes  and  no.  There  are  misfortunes 
which  are  blessings.  I  am  ruined  !  Here 
is  the  letter  announcing  the  fact.  I  got 
it  to-day." 


"Oh!  ran  it  be  true?"  she  exclaimed. 
"Iluim-d!  What  is  the  meaning  of  it?" 

"  It  means  having  a  dishonest  uncle  for 
your  guardian.  My  father  died  \\hiK-  I 
was  in  Europe,  leaving  his  affairs  in  the 
hands  of  my  uncle,  lie  delayed  settling 
the  estate,  alleging  pretexts  f..r  the  delay. 
As  I  had  perfect  confidence  in  him,  and 
was  amply  supplied  with  money  when  I 
called  for  it,  I  did  not  press  the  mat- 
ter; and  now  the  whole  story  has  come 
out.  My  father's  executor,  my  uncle,  was 
what  unceremonious  people  call  a  scoun- 
drel." 

Nelly  was  quite  overcome  by  this  sud- 
den announcement,  and  seemed  much  more 
Agitated  than  her  companion. 

"  But  you  are  not  ruined — how  could 
you  be  ruined?"  she  murmured,  scarcely 
knowing  what  she  said. 

"  Well,  the  process  was  very  simple — 
my  uncle  stole  the  money,"  replied  Elliot. 
"  He  disposed  of  my  father's  stocks  and 
mortgaged  his  real  estate,  and  speculated 
in  Wall  Street  with  the  proceeds — and 
lost  everything.  This  letter  from  him, 
written  as  he  was  leaving  for  Europe,  ac- 
knowledges the  whole  transaction,  and 
begs  me  not  to  expose  him." 

Nelly  made  no  reply.  Her  heart  was 
beating  so  that  it  could  be  heard  almost. 
An  immense  tenderness  filled  her  bosom 
for  the  man  she  loved  so  dearly  in  his 
trouble. 

"  So  you  see  I  am  a  poor  fellow,  with- 
out a  dollar  in  the  world,  almost,  Nelly," 
said  Brantz  Elliot.  "There  is  a  little 
remnant  only,  to  keep  me  from  starving 
— not  near  enough  to  enable  me  to  live 
in  Fifth  Avenue." 

His  voice  laughed  again  as  he  spoke, 
and  he  took  both  Nelly's  hands,  and  look- 
ed into  her  eyes. 

"  But  it  will  enable  me  to  buy  a  small 
tract  here  in  Bohemia,  which  will  give 
me  a  living.  I  could  build  a  small  Swiss 
chalet,  and  hunt  to  my  heart's  content ; 
but  then  I  would  die  of  ennui  if  I  lived 
by  myself,  Nelly." 

He  drew  her  toward  him  as  he  spoke, 
and  put  his  arms  around  her  neck.  She 
was  blushing  and  trembling. 


212 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"  You  will  have  me  now,  won't  you, ' 
Nelly?" 

Poor  Nelly !  She  could  not  make  the 
least  bit  of  a  reply  to  him,  her  heart  was 
beating  so.  But  she  leaned  her  cheek 
upon  his  breast  and  looked  up,  and  their 
lips  met — which  was,  perhaps,  as  good  a 
reply  as  any  other. 


LXX. 

MR.    LASCELLES     REFLECTS     DEEPLY     AND 
WRITES    A    NOTE. 

THE  parting  between  Miss  Bassick  and 
Mrs.  Armstrong  was  not  pathetic.  In- 
deed, the  performance  was  quite  business- 
like, and  not  indicative  of  yearning  affec- 
tion on  either  side.  Having  informed 
Mrs.  Armstrong,  with  some  hauteur,  that 
she  would  be  glad  to  have  paid  her  what 
was  due  her,  and  to  be  sent  to  Miss 
Grundy's,  where  she  proposed  hereafter 
to  reside,  Miss  Bassick  proceeded  to  pack 
up  her  goods  and  chattels,  and  at  the  ap- 
pointed hour  descended,  canary-bird  cage 
in  hand. 

Mrs.  Armstrong  was  in  the  drawing- 
room,  and  advanced  politely  to  bow  to 
her ;  but  Miss  Bassick  probably  regarded 
this  interchange  of  civilities  as  a  vain 
show,  and  not  wishing,  apparently,  to 
be  hypocritical  without  necessity,  passed 
coolly  by,  not  so  much  as  turning  her 
head,  and,  still  clinging  to  her  canary,  got 
into  the  carriage,  which  drove  away. 

As  to  Mrs.  Armstrong,  she  came  out 
and  looked  after  the  vehicle  when  it  dis- 
appeared. A  heavenly  smile  illumined 
her  visage,  and  >he  drew  a  long  breath. 

"Thank  heaven,  she  is  gone!"  said  the 
excellent  lady. 

As  Mi-s  r>;is>irk  had  despatched  ti  note 
to  Miss  Grundy  on  the  evening  before, 
all  was  ready  for  her,  and  the  friends 
rushed  into  each  other's  arms  and  \\nii 
through  the  kissing  ceremony.  Then 
Miss  Ua-siek  sat  down  and  wrote  a  little 
note  on  scented  note-paper,  whieh  she  ad- 
dressed "  Mr.  Douglas  Lascelles,  at  \Yy." 
and  requested  Miss  Grundy  to  mail. 
This  commission  Miss  Grundy,  in  a  high- 


ly delighted  state  of  mind,  fulfilled  with 
her  own  hands;  and  all  the  way  to  the 
village  post-office  she  was  reflecting  with 
profound  satisfaction  that  she  would  have 
a  paying  lodger,  and  would  be  initiated 
into  all  the  secrets  of  Trianon. 

As  Miss  Bassick  had  a  quiet  little 
chamber,  propitious  to  meditation,  she 
availed  herself  of  Miss  Grundy's  absence 
to  indulge  in  that  amusement,  probably 
reflecting  that  on  her  friend's  return  it. 
might  be  impossible. 

The  emergency  demanded  meditation, 
but  swift  decision,  too.  Mr.  Lascelles  was 
coming,  and  she  must  make  up  her  mind 
what  to  do  before  his  arrival.  The  an- 
onymous note  had  excited  a  very  great 
fury  in  Miss  Bassick.  Could  it  be  true? 
Seated  in  an  easy-chair,  and  knitting  her 
brows,  she  reflected  deeply.  It  might  be 
true.  Mr.  Lascelles  was  very  young  when 
he  went  to  Europe — the  world  was  full 
of  mercenary  adventuresses,  ready  to  snap 
up  young  heirs — she  must  know  before 
proceeding  further.  It  would  be  a  blun- 
der to  marry  some  one  else's  husband,  as 
Mrs.  Armstrong  had  very  justly  observed. 
If  he  had  a  wife  in  Europe,  Mr.  Lascelles 
would  be  unable  to  endow  his  new  bride 
with  all  his  worldly  goods;  and  in  the 
event  of  his  death  her  position  would  be 
embarrassing,  inasmuch  as  she  would  not 
be  anybody's  widow. 

It  was  true,  this  unlucky  rumor,  or  it 
was  not  true.  If  it  were  not  true,  then 
all  embarrassment  ended  at  once.  If  it 
frew  true — what  then? 

Miss  Bassick's  pretty  eyebrows  came 
close  together.  Having  no  mamma  or 
other  adviser,  she  had  to  do  her  own 
thinking.  There  were  marriages  and 
marriages.  Mr.  Lascelles  might  have 
been  a  minor,  and  the  marriage  void. 
The  laws  of  different  countries  as  to 
matrimony  were  conflicting.  She  might 
In-  u'mng  herself  a  great  deal  of  unneces- 
sary uneasiness.  .  .  . 

In  the  evening  Mr.  Laseclles  made  his 
appearance, and  Miss  Bassick  received  him 
in  an  elaborate  toilet  in  the  small  drawing- 
room.  There  were  to  be  no  endearments, 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


{apparently.  Miss  Bassick  extricated  her 
iliand  from  his%own  in  an  instant,  went 
ind  closed  the  door,  and  then,  sinking 
into  a  seat,  burst  into  tears,  covering  her 
Tare  with  her  hands.  It  is  true,  she  was 
looking  at  Mr.  Lascelles  through  her  fin- 
gers .... 

An  hour  afterward  Miss  Bassick's 
blushing  face  sought  its  place  of  refuge 
lin  Mr.  Lascelles's  waistcoat,  and  the  mo- 
mentary cloud  of  calumny  had  been  dis- 
sipated into  thin  air.  He  had  formed  a 
temporary  connection  of  a  certain  sort, 
ihe  was  sorry  to  say,  with  a  person  in 
Europe;  but  the  matter  had  long  lost  its 
importance,  and  was  nothing  in  law.  He 
I  was  well  assured  that  no  risk  would  en- 
[sue  either  to  himself  or  Miss  Bassick; 
and,  if  she  adhered  to  her  word,  they 
would  be  married  in  three  days,  in  an 
adjoining  village,  and  then  go  to  Wye 
and  announce  the  fact  to  everybody. 

In  this  wrorld  it  is  not  difficult  to  con- 
vince people  who  wish  to  be  convinced. 
Miss  Bassick  asked  nothing  better,  and 
subsided  with  sniffs  and  blushes  upon  the 
waistcoat. 

The  waistcoat  did  not  seem  altogether 
quite  as  ardent  to  receive  her  as  was  its 
wont.  It  did  not  repel  her,  but  it  did 
not  smile  and  hold  out  its  arms  to  her,  to 
use  a  mixed  figure.  In  fact,  Mr.  Lascelles 
seemed,  so  to  say,  a  little  chilled.  His 
sentiment  toward  Miss  Bassick  might  be 
as  pronounced  as  ever,  but  the  situation 
of  things  began  to  impress  him,  perhaps, 
as  involving  enormous  risks.  He  was 
going  to  marry  without  the  knowledge 
or  consent  of  his  family,  and,  besides 
this — 

He  was  uncomfortably  silent  and  dis- 
trait. Did  he  realize  that  the  passing 
moments  were  to  decide  his  whole  future 
— that  before  him,  a  step  in  advance,  the 
path  he  was  following  branched  in  two 
different  directions  —  that  a  good  deal 
would  depend  upon  which  of  the  two 
paths  he  turned  into?  That  conviction 
conies  suddenly  to  every  human  being  at 
some  period  of  their  lives ;  and  it  seemed 
to  have  come  to  Mr.  Lascelles  at  the  pres- 


ent moment.  A  vague  instinct  told  him 
that  danger  was  lurking  near  him  ;  and, 
with  such  impressions  occupying  the 
mind,  the  \  DMI  a 

bore. 

Thus  it  happened  that  when  Mr.  Li- 
cclles  took  leave  of  Miss  Bassick  it.  \\.-m 
rather  coolly.  Her  <|iiick  eye  noted  th.« 
fact  perfectly,  and  it  filled  her  with  sullen 
anger  and  uneasiness.  But  then  Mi>s 
Bassick  was  a  very  good  actress.  It  was 
not  necessary  always  to  show  one' 
feelings.  Her  handsome  face  assumed 
an  expression  of  sad  sweetness,  and  she 
sighed  gently ;  then  the  door  closed,  and 
Miss  Bassick  went  to  her  chamber,  flush- 
ing with  anger.  Luckily  Miss  Grundy, 
wrho  had  been  seated  on  the  steps  attempt- 
ing to  listen,  thought  it  best  to  retire  si- 
lently to  avoid  misconception. 

Mr.  Lascelles  rode  forward  through  the 
night  toward  Wye.  He  went  along  slow- 
ly, and  was  evidently  buried  in  thought. 
He  had  lit  a  cigar,  but  it  speedily  went 
out,  and  he  was  scarcely  conscious  of 
throwing  it  angrily  away. 

It  was  early  when  he  reached  home, 
and  he  went  at  once  to  his  chamber. 
Here  he  sat  down  and  wrote : 

"  It  is  necessary  for  me  to  see  you — 
for  many  reasons.  Meet  me  at  the  bridge 
on  the  stage -road  at  sunset  to-morrow 
evening.  A  simple  'yes'  to  the  servant 
taking  this  will  be  enough.  D.  L." 

He  called  a  confidential  servant,  gave 
him  the  note  and  instructions  where  to 
find  the  Lefthander,  and  then  went  down- 
stairs. 

General  Lascelles  had  just  arrived  from 
the  mountain. 


LXXI. 

A    HAPPY    FAMILY. 


GENERAL  LASCELLES  entered.  For 
years  no  one  had  seen  the  old  statesman 
look  so  happy — and  all  around  him  were 
speedily  in  possession  of  the  cause  of  this 
happiness. 


214 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


It  was  an  affecting  recital.  This  man, 
whose  voice  had  thundered  above  crowds 
or  in  senates,  faltered  now  as  he  told  the 
strange  story  of  the  discovery  of  his 
brother;  and  the  honest  eyes  filled  with 
tears  in  response  to  the  tears  in  the  eyes 
around  him. 

Mrs.  Lascelles  exhibited  very  deep  feel- 
ing, and  Anna  cried  quietly.  This  good 
family  had  but  one  thought — that  God 
had  given  back  to  them  those  whom  they 
loved ;  and  it  was  decided  that  prepara- 
tions should  at  once  be  made  at  Wye  to 
have  Gentleman  Joe  and  Harry  come  and 
live  there  for  the  remainder  of  their  lives. 

"  One  good  thing,  my  dear,  in  having  a 
wife  like  yourself,"  said  General  Lascelles, 
cheerily,  "is  to  know  in  advance  what 
one  can  expect.  I  knew  very  well  you 
would  be  ready  to  love  and  cherish  my 
dear  Joe.  He  must  not  leave  us  any 
more — nor  Harry  either,  unless  somebody 
takes  him  away  from  us." 

"  Who  will  do  that,  my  dear  ?"  Mrs. 
Lascelles  said,  in  a  puzzled  tone. 

"  Well,  I  should  not  be  very  much  sur- 
prised if  the  capture  was  effected  by  a 
Miss  Frances  Gary." 

"Frances  Gary!" 

"  My  pet,  you  know,  madam.  She 
wished  me  to  remain  at  Falling  Water  to- 
night, but  I  was  afraid  that  you  might  be 
jealous.  I  told  her  how  improper  it  was 
to  be  so  free  and  easy  with  a  married 
man,  but  she  only  laughed — the  customary 
reply  of  maidens  to  all  arguments." 

"But—" 

"  The  possible  capture  of  nephew  Har- 
ry you  mean.  AVell,  it  really  is  a  very 
romantic  story,  and  was  told  me  by  Joe. 
It  seems  Harry  was  a  circus-boy,  and  drew 
Frances  from  under  the  feet  of  some 
horses ;  he  also  shot  the  panther,  killed 
some  time  since,  when  he  was  about  to 
spring  at  Frances.  Romantic,  you  see — 
but  what  would  the  world  be  without  ro- 
mance? Then  the  poor  fellow  was  sick, 
and  pity  sways  the  feminine  heart ;  so,  to 
cut  short  my  story,  Harry  has  fallen  in 
love  with  Frances,  and  as  she  blushed  and 
tried  to  laugh  when  I  recommended  him 
to  her  good  graces,  perhaps  she  thinks 


she  ought  to  reward  him  for  all  his  hero- 


sm. 


"  I  hope  she  will  !"  exclaimed  Anna. 

"  I  really  don't  know.  Your  dear  sex 
are  past  finding  out.  It  is  your  privilege 
to  startle  us  by  the  unexpected.  As  an 
illustration,  Ellis  Grantham  and  Miss  Ju- 
liet Armstrong  —  she  is  at  Falling  Water 
—  are  plainly  engaged  to  be  married.  He 
came  to  see  her,  and  I  am  informed  they 
make  no  secret  of  it." 

Mr.  Lascelles  had  come  in  behind  the 
general,  and  looked  quickly  at  him. 

"  Ah,  there  you  are,  Douglas  !  You 
hear  what  I  say,  and  you  have  been  dis- 
tanced." 

**  I  confess  what  you  say  is  news  to  me," 
said  Mr.  Lascelles,  moodily  ;  "  but  nothing 
in  this  world  is  surprising,  sir.  I  thought 
we  were  to  have  the  honor  of  an  alliance 
with  Mr.  Grantham's  family  ourselves." 

He  glanced  at  Anna,  but  as  that  young 
lady  only  laughed,  he  said  no  more. 

"  You  saw  the  moonshiners,  I  suppose, 
sir?" 

"  Yes,  all  but  the  big  Lefthander,  as 
they  call  him." 

Mr.  Lascelles  drew  a  long  breath  of  re- 
lief and  sat  down.  Then  the  incidents  of 
the  day  continued  to  be  discussed  until  a 
late  hour.  The  family  had  not  been  so 
happy  for  a  long  time  —  the  only  moody 
member  of  it  was  the  man  seated  apart, 
with  his  brows  knit,  and  his  eyes  on  the 
floor,  communing  with  his  conscience,  and 
goaded  by  it. 


LXXII. 

A   MAN    OF   THE    BOHMERWALD. 

INSTEAD  of  attending  the  meeting  of 
moonshiners  at  the  house  on  the  moun- 
tain, the  Lefthander  had  taken  Mouse  by 
the  hand  on  that  morning  and  they  had 
rambled  away  into  the  woods,  which  ac- 
count od  for  the  fact  that  General  Lascelles 
had  not  found  them  at  Crow's  Nest. 

The  Lefthander  had  resolved  to  leave 
the  moonshine  fraternity.  His  motive 
for  this  was  a  double  one.  There  would 
probably  be  trouble  soon,  and  something 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


215 


might  happen  to  him — that  is,  to  Mouse. 
As  to  personal  apprehension,  that  was 
something  wholly  alien  to  the  character 
of  the  man.  Fear  was  a  sentiment  al- 
most, if  not  (juite,  unknown  to  him  ;  but 
if  he  were  arrested,  it  would  be  a  terrible 
thinu;  for  the  child,  who  had  now  become 
the  sole  thought  of  his  life.  She  seem- 
ed to  be  dearer  to  him  every  day.  lie 
watched  her  with  the  long  glance  of  the 
mother  whose  existence  is  bound  up  in 
her  babe.  The  strength  of  this  senti- 
ment in  the  ponderous  nature  was  phe- 
nomenal, but  natural  too.  The  athlete, 
with  his  Inline  muscles  and  rugged 
strength  of  body  and  mind,  had  his  soft 
side,  open  to  tender  emotions,  and  the 
child  touched  him  there ;  and  the  effect 
was  wonderful.  She  had  slowly  acquired 
a  strange  influence  over  him,  awakening 
in  his  rude  nature  all  that  was  soft  and 
pure.  This  had  begun  some  time  before. 
He  had  given  up  drink,  which  had  once 
been  his  vice ;  now  he  meant  to  dissolve 
his  connection  with  the  moonshiners  and 
their  illicit  business,  which  was  a  breach 
of  the  law,  and  therefore  wrong,  he  said, 
whether  it  was  morally  wrong  or  not. 
What  the  Lefthander  intended  to  do  was 
to  go  away  from  Crow's  Nest,  and  take 
his  companions  with  him.  They  would 
form  a  little  troupe,  and  go  about  the 
country,  or  he  would  settle  down  quietly 
somewhere  with  Mouse.  It  was  an  at- 
tractive thought  to  him,  but  strangely 
enough,  whenever  it  occurred  to  him 
now,  his  face  clouded  over,  and  he  fell 
into  the  deepest  depression. 

He  had  gone  away  into  the  woods  with 
Mouse  on  this  morning  in  a  thoughtful 
inood,  holding  her  hand  in  his  own.  A 
wralk  would  do  her  good,  he  said ;  she  was 
growing  too  white;  and,  indeed,  Mouse 
was  more  aerial  than  ever.  This  did  not 
arise  from  drudgery  at  her  household 
duties,  which  sometimes  pulls  down  peo- 
ple. There  was  no  real  drudgery.  A 
poor  woman  who  lived  in  the  hills  be- 
hind Crow's  Nest  came  every  day  to  look 
after  things  and  relieve  the  child.  But 
something  seemed  to  have  made  Mouse 
thinner  and  more  delicate.  When  the 


Lefthander  spoke  of  it  she  laughed,  but 
this  did  not  change  things.  "  Y.>u  are 
too  white,  Mign.m,"  he  -aid;  "yon  nni-t 

go  out  more,  and  get  s..me  rotea  into 

your  face  again." 

They  went  up  the  banks  of  the  stream, 
a  considerable  distance  above  the  Lover1! 
Leap,  and  reaching  a  bluff  covered  \\ith 
brown  pine-tags,  sat  down  upon  them  and 
looked  out  across  the  little  valley.  P»o- 
hemia  was  sleeping  tranquilly  in  the  mild 
Indian  summer  weather.  Now  and  then 
the  long  tassels  of  the  pines  above  them 
uttered  a  low  sigh,  which  passed  on  as 
the  wind  passed,  and  died  away  in  the 
distance  toward  the  south,  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  Hogback.  The  Lefthander, 
sitting  with  his  hands  clasped  around  his 
knees,  looked  thoughtfully  at  the  oppo- 
site mountain,  which  swam  in  a  faint 
mist. 

"  It  is  better,"  he  said,  at  length.  As 
he  uttered  these  words  his  face  began  to 
flush  slowly,  and  his  eyes  half  closed ;  a 
sudden  moisture  had  come  to  them  which 
resembled  tears. 

"  What  is  better,  poppa  ?"  said  Mouse, 
who  was  looking  down  and  listening  to 
the  laughter  of  the  Falling  Water,  which 
came  up  like  a  joyous  murmur  from  be- 
neath them. 

"It  is  better  that  you  should  have 
something  more  like  a  home  than  you 
have  now,"  he  said ;  "  and  you  shall  have 
it." 

"A  better  home?  What  do  you  mean, 
poppa?  I'd  like  to  know  how  I  could 
have  a  better  home." 

"That  will  be  easy,"  said  the  Left- 
hander ;  "  and  the  time  has  come  for  it 
You  had  a  home  once — there  is  another 
that  you  are  going  to  soon." 

Mouse  listened  with  utter  astonish- 
ment, looking  at  his  face ;  but  he  turned 
away  from  her. 

"  Listen,  Mignon,"  he  said,  speaking  in 
a  voice  so  deep  and  tremulous  that  it 
penetrated  to  the  child's  heart.  "It  is 
not  right  for  you  to  grow  up  in  this  way. 
It  has  been  on  my  mind  for  a  long  time. 
I  was  never  satisfied  at  the  circus — do 
you  remember  that  I  told  you  I  was 


216 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


tired  of  it?  I  was  not  tired  of  it  for 
myself.  I  liked  the  rough  life  of  the 
ring,  and  to  rove  around,  and  drink,  and 
risk  breaking  my  neck — that  suited  me ; 
but  it  did  not  suit  you." 

"  You  mean  you  left  the  circus  on  my 
account,  poppa.  But  it  was  best  for  you 
too.  We  are  happier." 

"  Yes,  we  are  happier,  my  Mignon — a 
great  deal  happier.  You  were  growing, 
and  would  be  a  young  girl  soon ;  it  would 
not  do  for  you  to  live  in  the  midst  of  cir- 
cus men  and  women,  hearing  things  some- 
times that  you  ought  not  to  hear.  I  did 
not  mean  you  should,  so  I  gave  up  that, 
and  brought  you  away.  Yes,  we  are  hap- 
pier, but — " 

"  What  can  you  mean,  poppa  ?" 

"  You  ought  to  have  a  home,  Mignon. 
If  something  happened  to  me  you  would 
have  nobody  in  the  world  to  look  after 
you.  And  then  men  will  not  do :  some 
good  woman  ought  to  have  charge  of  you 
— that  would  be  better.  I  can  arrange 
that." 

"Arrange  what,  poppa  ?" 

"  Finding  a  home  for  you.  Did  I  nev- 
er tell  you  that  some  of  your  mother's 
family  came  to  America?  There  are  a 
great  many  European  people  in  this  coun- 
try. I  can  trace  your  mother's  relatives 
and  place  you  with  them,  Mignon.  You 
would  have  a  home  then." 

"  Oh  no,  no  !"  exclaimed  Mouse,  turn- 
ing quickly  and  fixing  her  moist  eyes 
upon  him. 

"  A  happy  home,  with  womanly  hands 
to  do  little  things  for  you,  and  people  to 
care  for  you.  I  could  come  and  see  you 
now  and  then — it  might  not  be  so  often, 
but—" 

Mouse  threw  her  arms  around  his  neck 
and  burst  into  tears,  looking  up  at  him. 
The  huge  breast  on  which  she  was  lean- 
ing rose  and  fell. 

"It  would  be  better—"  was  all  he 
could  say. 

"  No,  it  would  not  be  better!"  the  child 
cried,  passionately.  "It  would  make  me 
so  unhappy  that  I  would  die,  without 
you!  Go  away  from  you?  "What  made 
you  ever  think  of  such  a  thing,  poppa  ? 


Don't  say  any  more  about  it,  for  I  am 
not  going — you  shall  not  leave  me — how 
could  I  live  without  you,  poppa?" 

She  clung  closely  to  him,  sobbing  and 
crying  as  if  her  heart  would  break. 

"But,"  he  said,  in  a  low  voice,  "you 
cannot  go  on  living  as  you  are  living  now, 
Mignon.  You  must  be  educated,  and  go 
to  church,  and  have  little  girls  to  play 
with,  my  own  poor  little  Mignon — my 
snow-drop!"  He  spoke  with  exquisite  soft- 
ness and  tenderness.  "  How  can  a  father 
see  his  child  growing  up  without  the  care 
that  children  ought  to  have?  There  are 
bad  fathers,  perhaps,  who  do  not  think  of 
their  little  ones  much.  God  makes  such 
people,  as  he  makes  monsters.  But  a 
good  father — one  that  has  a  little  girl — 
how  can  he  let  her  run  wild  and  not  be 
cared  for  and  happy  ?  You  have  the  right 
to  be  cared  for,  Mignon  —  you  are  like 
your  mother.  I  will  find  your  relations, 
and  then  you  will  have  a  home.  No 
doubt  they  are  well-to-do,  and  you  will 
have  nice  clothes  to  wear  and  good  food, 
and,  if  you  are  sick,  loving  hands  to  do 
things  for  you.  Think  how  it  would  be 
if  you  were  sick  here  at  Crow's  Nest !" 

But  it  was  of  no  avail  whatever.  The 
eloquence  of  the  Lefthander  produced  no 
impression.  Mouse  only  clung  closer  to 
him,  exclaiming,  "  No,  no !  I  will  never 
leave  you — and  you  shall  not  leave  me, 
poppa !  How  could  I  live  without  you  2" 

This  was  the  end  of  the  discussion. 
The  Lefthander  gave  it  up — either  hope- 
less of  bending  the  child's  resolution  or 
unable  to  control  his  emotion.  She  had 
never  seen  him  so  much  moved.  II is 
face  was  flushed,  and  his  eyes  were  wet. 
At  last  a  single  tear  rolled  down  and  fell 
on  the  child's  face.  It  was  probably  one 
«>f  a  very  few  shed  by  the  Lefthander  dur- 
ing the  whole  of  his  life. 


LXXIII. 

INDKR  THE    ICE. 


ALL  that  evening,  after  his  return  to 
Crow's  Nest,  the  Lefthander  was  evidently 
revolving  something  in  his  mind,  and  did 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


217 


not  utter  a  word.  When  the  next  day 
came  he  \vns  still  pondering,  and  his 
strong  features  betrayed  an  emotion  which 
i  his  companions  hail  never  witnessed  in  him 
before.  Mvcrv  movement  indicated  that 
a  conflict  was  going  on.  After  sitting 
down  and  smoking  for  some  moments  he 
would  rise  and  walk  to  and  fro,  with  his 
eyes  fixed  upon  the  ground;  then  he 
would  raise  his  head  and  look  suddenly 
toward  Mouse.  At  such  moments  his 
face  filled  with  blood,  and  his  expression 
was  heart-breaking. 

About  noon  lie  put  on  his  hat  and 
walked  down  the  hill.  Having  reached 
the  road,  he  turned  to  the  left,  as  if  he 
meant  to  go  toward  Piedmont,  and  went 
some  steps.  Then  he  turned  back  and 
stood  still  for  some  moments.  Then  he 
wheeled  round  quickly  and  began  walk- 
ing rapidly  in  the  direction  which  he  had 
at  first  taken.  As  he  did  so,  a  mounted 
servant  came  over  a  knoll  in  front  of  him 
and  drew  rein,  looking  at  him.  It  was 
the  confidential  servant  sent  by  Mr.  Las- 
celles ;  and  as  lie  was  a  most  intelligent 
negro,  and  the  Lefthander's  person  had 
been  described  by  his  master,  he  delivered 
the  note  to  him.  The  Lefthander  took  it 
and  read  it.  He  then  turned  to  the  man 
and  said  "  Yes,"  after  which  the  servant 
rode  away. 

Toward  the  afternoon  the  Lefthander 
kissed  Mouse,  and  said  quietly  that  he 
was  going  to  see  Colonel  Gary  on  some 
business.  This  was  true ;  as,  after  follow- 
ing the  road  to  the  bridge  for  some  dis- 
tance, he  turned  into  a  path  and  reached 
the  house  of  Falling  Water.  Mr.  Gary 
was  at  home,  and  the  Lefthander  spent 
an  hour  with  him  in  the  library.  Then 
he  came  out  again  and  went  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  bridge,  which  he  reached  as 
the  sun  was  sinking  and  throwing  long 
shadows  across  the  valley. 

Mr.  Lascelles  was  already  at  the  ren- 
dezvous. He  had  dismounted,  and  was 
standing,  with  the  bridle  of  his  horse  in 
his  hand,  upon  the  bridge.  As  the  Left- 
hander approached  slowly,  with  his  long 
and  firm  tread,  Mr.  Lascelles  looked  at 
him  with  a  certain  wariness  which  indi- 


cated that  he  \\as  <>n  his  guard,  and  ex- 
pected that  their  interview  w.-uld  be  a 
critieal  one.  His  fare  was  a  little  pale— 

perhaps  sallow  Would  he  the  better  Word. 
In  fact,  Mr.  La-celles  had  Hot.  slept  llllleh, 

his  alTairs  having  reached  a  cri-U  which 
produced  a  ten-ion  of  the  nervous  s\  >lem. 
He  was,  however,  perfectly  cool,  as  he  was 
a  person  of  strong  will.  He  waii<<l  un- 
til the  Lefthander  had  come  to  the  spot 
where  he  was  standing,  and  then  said, 

"Ihavebcen  waiting  for  yon,  bat,  a 
waited  for  me  the  last  time,  we  are  quits." 

k'  \Vc  are  quits,"  repeated  the  Left- 
hander, in  his  customary  tone  of  phlegm. 

"I  called  to  see  you  some  time  since, 
but  you  were  not  at  home.  We  are  here 
alone  together  at  last,  and  can  talk  to- 
gether. It  is  not  necessary  to  use  cere- 
mony. I  have  come  on  business.  What 
is  the  price  of  the  papers  ?" 

"  You  mean  your  letters  to  your  wife 
and  the  record  of  your  marriage?" 

"Yes." 

"  The  papers  are  not  for  sale." 

Mr.  Lascelles  exhibited  no  indication  of 
any  emotion  whatever  at  these  words. 

"That  means  that  the  price  will  be 
high,"  he  said.  "  It  would  save  time  if 
you  would  state  the  amount." 

The  Lefthander  looked  at  him  atten- 
tively. 

"Then  you  think  I  am  bargaining," 
he  said ;  "  but  I  am  not.  I  will  not  sell 
the  papers." 

"Are  you  in  earnest?"  Mr.  Lascelles 
said,  retaining  his  coolness,  but  knitting 
his  brows  slightly.  "Men  act  from  intel- 
ligible motives  in  this  world ;  arc  you  an 
exception?  I  offer  to  buy  what  is  value- 
less to  you.  You  are  poor,  and  no  doubt 
need  money.  It  is  an  exchange  of  what 
can  be  of  no  use  to  you  for  a  sum  of 
gold  which  will  be  of  use  to  you.  Why 
do  you  refuse  ?  There  is  always  a  mo- 
tive, as  I  have  said,  in  men's  actions — 
what  is  yours  ?" 

The  Lefthander  did  not  reply  for  an 
instant;  his  face  flushed  slightly. 

"  Yes,  I  have  a  motive,"  he  said,  in  a 
moment.  "  You  might  guess  a«t  it,  per- 
haps." 


218 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


"  I  cannot  imagine  any." 

"  There  are  other  motives  besides  love 
of  money  which  affect  people.  There  is 
a  thing  called  hatred — have  you  thought 
of  that?" 

"Then  you  hate  me,  and  think  that 
by  keeping  possession  of  these  papers 
vou  will  be  able  to  gratify  your  ha- 
tred?" 

"  Why  not  ?"  the  Lefthander  said,  qui- 
etly. "  I  have  reason  to  hate  you." 

"  What  reason  ?" 

"  Then  you  really  do  not  know  ?" 

"  Know  what  ?" 

"  That  I  loved  Mignon." 

Mr.  Lascelles  greeted  this  announcement 
with  a  look  of  astonishment  that  was 
plainly  unaffected. 

"You  loved  Mignon!" 

"  Yes — better  than  the  young  Ameri- 
can who  married  and  deserted  her." 

Mr.  Lascelles  did  not  speak  for  a  mo- 
ment; his  face  was  growing  sullen  and 
threatening,  but  he  evidently  made  a  great 
effort  to  preserve  his  coolness. 

"  So  you  cared  for  her  ?"  he  said. 

"  It  is  not  the  word,"  returned  the 
Lefthander,  in  his  deep  voice.  "  I  loved 
her  with  my  whole  strength — my  brains 
and  my  heart.  You  did  not  know  that, 
you  say — now  you  will  begin  to  under- 
stand some  things.  I  was  sick,  and  she 
nursed  me.  I  began  to  love  her,  and  she 
would  have  married  me  but  for  one  thing. 
A  young  American  came  to  hunt  in  the 
mountain  and  made  her  acquaintance. 
He  was  richly  dressed,  and  had  a  smooth 
tongue,  which  deceives  women.  Besides, 
he  loved  her,  or  thought  that  he  did,  for 
when  he  found  that  she  was  a  pure  girl, 
and  would  not  listen  to  his  unworthy 
proposals,  he  married  her." 

Mr.  Lasrdles  made  no  reply,  but  the 
dark  and  sullen  expression  of  his  fa<v 
deepened. 

"That  was  the  first  act  of  the  play— 
the  young  American  thought  it  was  a 
comedy  when  it  was  a  tragedy,  or  soon 
grew  to  be  one.  I  am  not  speaking  <>f 
the  young  man  Karl  Ottendorfer's  feel- 
ings —  you  knew  him,  but  gave  no 
thought  to  him.  He  was  wretched 


enough  —  but  that  is  no  matter;  I  am 
speaking  of  her.  The  young  American 
soon  grew  weary  of  her,  and  found  that 
lie  had  business  at  Rome.  Fortunately 
he  had  been  absent  for  a  short  time  be- 
fore that,  and  had  written  to  her." 

Mr.  Lascelles  set  his  teeth  together,  but 
made  no  reply. 

"The  letters  were  written  while  he 
still  loved  her,  and  were  such  as  a  hus- 
band writes  to  his  wife.  Afterward  he 
did  not  write  any  letters — when  he  went 
away  on  the  business  which  took  him 
into  Italy.  In  fact,  he  neither  wrote  a 
line  to  her  nor  ever  saw  her  any  more. 
He  deserted  her  !" 

Mr.  Lascelles  moved  restlessly  under 
the  harsh  words,  as  a  horse  moves  under 
the  spur,  and  growled, 

"I  did  not  mean  —  to  —  desert  her. 
There  would  be  no  end  reached  now  by 
blackening  my  name.  Where  are  the 
letters,  and  how  did  they  come  into  your 
possession  ?" 

"They  came  into  my  possession  in  a 
natural  manner.  You  deserted  your  wife 
—her  parents  died,  and  she  had  no  other 
friend  but  myself.  I  watched  over  her 
day  and  night.  I  had  long  ceased  to  love 
her  as  a  lover — she  was  a  saint  to  me; 
and  I  have  knelt  at  her  bedside  and  kiss- 
ed her  little  feet  when  she  was  so  white 
and  weak  that  I  thought  the  angels  were 
coming  for  her." 

He  raised  his  head  and  looked  up  as 
he  spoke,  as  though  he  saw  the  angels. 
The  man  of  the  Bohmerwald  was  sudden- 
ly revealed  in  him. 

11  White  —  and  weak  T  said  Mr.  Las- 
celles in  a  low  voice,  looking  down  at  the 
water  running  under  the  bridge.  He  was 
leaning  on  the  railing  and  had  turned 
half  away. 

"  \Ynii ion  are  white  and  weak  in  her 
situation.  She  had  just  given  birth  to 
her  child." 

"To  her  child!" 

"  To  her  child.  For  a  month  she  grew 
weaker,  and  as  white  —  as  white  as  the 
snow-drops  of  the  Bohmerwald.  Then  a 
day  came  at  last  when  they  called  her — 
the  angels — and  she  went." 


VIK<;iNIA  BOHEMIANS. 


919 


Mr.  Lasccllcs  started,  turning  his  head 
quickly. 

li  She  did  not  die !— she  is  not  dead  !" 

AYas  it  the  voice  of  the  cold  man  of 
the  world  that  uttered  these  words  ?  There 
was  in  his  accent  :i  quick  anguish,  as 
though  some  weapon  had  pierced  him. 

"  She  is  not  dead !"  he  repeated.  "  Mig- 
non  is  not  dead !" 

"  She  died  in  my  arms,  and  I  followed 
her  to  the  grave  and  saw  her  laid  under 
the  snow.  The  child  was  left.  I  took 
the  child,  and  have  been  a  good  father  to 
her.  I  promised  her  mother  that  I  would 
be  a  good  father;  and  I  have  kept  my 
word  to  the  woman  I  loved." 

"Dead!"  came  in  a  low,  trembling 
voice  from  his  companion  ;  "  dead !  Mig- 
non  dead?  Can  that  be?" 

"  She  is  dead — the  flowers  have  grown 
out  of  her  bosom  for  years.  I  took  her 
child  and  left  Bohemia  and  came  to  this 
country." 

"Dead!" 

The  word  constantly  recurred  in  the 
same  tone.  The  sound  fell  like  the  dull, 
harsh  blow  of  the  clod  on  a  coffin.  In 
the  silence  which  followed  nothing  was 
heard  but  the  washing  of  the  water 
against  the  trestle-work  of  the  bridge. 
Once  something  like  a  groan  issued  from 
the  pale  lips  of  the  man  looking  down 
into  the  water. 

"  I  am  sorry ! — sorry  is  not  the  word. 
I  did  not  know  she  was  dead — you  would 
not  tell  me — if  breaking  my  heart  would 
bring  her  back,  it  might  break !" 

The  hard  crust  of  the  man's  nature  was 
heaving  and  cracking. 

"I  loved  her,"  he  said,  in  a  low,  deep 
voice,  in  which  there  was  something  hope- 
less. "Yes,  I  deserted  her — and  I  was 
mad.  I  would  give  my  life  to  see  her 
face !" 

The  Lefthander  drew  a  medallion  from 
his  breast.  It  was  held  by  a  chain. 

"  Here  she  is !"  he  said. 

Mr.  Lascelles  seized  the  medallion,  and 
drew  it  close  to  his  face.  As  it  was  held 
by  the  chain  it  was  necessary  that  lie 
should  come  close  to  his  enemy ;  but  he 
seemed  to  have  lost  sight  of  him.  He 


opened  the  medallion,  and  saw  the  picture 
»f  a  young  girl — a  plain  photograph — 
taken  probably  l»y  some  wandering  artUt 

in  the  BohmerwalcL     The  face  was  full 

of  an  ine\piv->il>le  mode-ty  and  swi'etin-s. 
In  every  feature  could  be  tra«vd  tin-  like- 
ness to  Mouse. 

Mr.  Lascelles  looked  long  at  it,  and  his 
frame  shook;  his  eyes  tilled  with  I'KTV 
tears,  and  from  his  lips  escaped,  in  a  l<«ng, 
hopeless  groan,  the  single  word, 

"  Mignon !" 

Suddenly  the  Lefthander  closed  the 
medallion  and  put  it  back  in  his  l.ira-t. 
It  might  have  been  supposed  that  he  was 
jealous.  This  sole  remaining  memorial  of 
the  woman  whom  he  had  loved  was  his 
property. 

"  I  will  not  ask  you  to  give  me  that 
picture,"  said  Mr.  Lascelles,  in  a  trembling 
voice ;  "  but  I  will  give  you  all  I  possess 
for  it." 

.  "  The  world  could  not  buy  it  from  me !" 
said  the  Lefthander,  coldly. 

"I  can  understand  that.  I  never  knew 
you.  I  know  you  now.  "Where  is  my 
child?" 

The  voice  had  altered  suddenly.  From 
the  depths  of  an  agony  of  despair  this 
man  caught,  as  it  were,  at  this  support  to 
keep  his  .  heart  from  breaking,  and  his 
voice  shook. 

"  She  is  living.     You  have  seen  her." 

"Seen  her?" 

"She  saw  and  talked  with  you  at 
Crow's  Nest  when  you  came  one  day." 

"That  child— that  is  my  child?"  ' 

"  She   is  Mignon  Lascelles,  since  you 
are  her  father !     I  did  not  mean  to  tell 
you  that;  but  something  might  happen 
to  me,  and  it  is  necessary  for  me  : 
you." 

"Yes,  yes!" 

"  But  leave  her  to  me :  I  love  her  so 
that  I  cannot  live  without  her.  I  nit-ant 
to  follow  you  and  kill  you  once — I  hated 
you  so;  but  I  do  not  wMi  to  kill  you 
now,  and  will  forgive  you  all  you  ha\ 
done  to  me  if  you  will  give  me  Mignon." 

"  No !" 

"You  will  not?  You  take  her?  You 
have  the  right  to  do  that." 


220 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


The  Lefthander  knit  his  black  brows 
and  groaned.  Suddenly  he  said, 

"  Listen  !  There  will  be  no  trouble 
about  the  papers;  they  are  in  a  bag  at 
Mr.  Gary's  —  all.  You  have  only  to  go 
with  me,  and  I  will  deliver  them  to  you. 
All  I  ask  in  return  is  that  you  will  give 
me  Mignon." 

"  Give  you  my  child  ?  No  ! — I  do  not 
want  the  papers  now.  My  child  is  all 
that  is  left  of  the  woman  I  love.  I  say 
love  !  —  not  loved  !  Yes,  I  deserted  her, 
and  thought  I  had  forgotten  her.  Since 
she  is  dead  I  know  better." 

"  Give  me  Mignon !" 

The  voice  was  beseeching.  The  giant 
had  become  a  suppliant. 

"I  cannot  give  you  Mignon.  I  can 
offer  you  my  hand,  and  thank  you  for 
not  killing  me,  as  you  had  a  right  to  do. 
Keep  the  letters  and  marriage  record — I 
do  not  want  them  now.  I  will  come  to 
Crow's  Nest  to-morrow — not  to-night.  I 
have  business  to-night." 

Before  the  Lefthander  was  aware  of 
it  Mr.  Lascelles  had  gripped  his  hand, 
mounted  his  horse,  and  was  galloping 
toward  Piedmont. 


LXXIV. 

MOUSE    CHOOSES. 

THE  Lefthander  went  away  in  the 
direction  of  Crow's  Nest,  with  his  chin 
nearly  resting  on  his  breast.  An  unut- 
terable gloom  possessed  him.  lie  was 
going  to  lose  Mignon !  The  long  doubt 
was  over.  He  had  hoped  that  her  father 
would  disown  her:  he  claimed  her;  and 
thenceforth  he,  the  Lefthander,  was  alone 
in  the  world. 

lie  went  on  groaning.  lie  would  see 
her  soon,  for  nearly  the  last  time.  He 
had  a  great  thirst  of  the  heart  to  sec  her, 
and  take  her  in  his  arms  and  say,  "  I  love 
you  more  than  your  real  father  can  ever 
love  you !" 

He  reached  Crow's  Nest  as  the  twilight 
was  deepening  into  dusk.  In  front  the 
valley  of  Bohemia  was  asleep.  Not  a 
breath  of  air  stirred  the  few  leaves  of  the 


trees,  and  a  crescent  moon  was  floating 
through  fleecy  cloud-waves,  bound  for  the 
haven  of  the  sunset. 

Mouse  saw  him  coming  and  ran  to 
meet  him,  and  put  her  arms  around  him. 

"Why,  poppa!  what  is  the.  matter? 
You  do  not  look  happy,"  she  said. 

"Not  happy?  That  is  your  fancy, 
Mignon.  How  can  I  be  unhappy  when 
you  are  by  me  ?" 

But  Mouse  shook  her  head,  and  said, 

"Something  troubles  you,  poppa. — 
What's  the  use  of  loving  people  if 
we  can't  see  when  they  are  happy  or 
troubled  ?" 

"And  do  you  love  me  really — just  a 
little,  my  own  Mignon  ?" 

"  Love  you !  What  do  you  mean, 
poppa?  How  could  I  ever  live  without 
you  ?" 

"Are  you  sure  of  that?  Suppose  you 
had  to  go  away  from  me,  Mignon.  Yes 
— let  us  suppose  a  thing.  Say  I  was  not 
your  father  —  and  that  your  real  father 
was  living." 

"  My  real  father !  Why,  what  father 
could  I  have  but  my  own  poppa  ?" 

"  Such  things  happen.  You  read  curi- 
ous things  in  the  newspapers  sometimes, 
and  when  the  story-tellers  put  them  in 
stories  people  say  they  are  improbable. 
Sometimes  little  ones  like  you  are  brought 
up  by  strangers,  then  you  think  they  are 
father  and  mother.  Say  that  this  was 
true  of  you,  and  your  real  father,  as  I 
said,  was  living;  then  suppose  he  came 
one  day  and  said, '  Give  me  Mignon,  you 
have  no  right  to  her.'  You  may  think 
the  idea  foolish,  but  —  tell  me — what 
would  you  say  ?" 

Mouse  had  begun  to  laugh  at  the  ro- 
mantic case  supposed  by  the  Lefthander, 
but  something  in  his  deep  voice  quite 
suppressed  her  tendency  to  mirth. 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean,  poppa." 
>hr  siid,  earnestly;  "but  I  know  what  I 
would  say  if  they  came  to  take  me  from 
you." 

"  What  would  you  say  ?" 

"  Well,  I  would  not  say  anything.  I 
would  show  them  what  I  meant  by  what 
I  did." 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


221 


"  What  would  you  do  ?" 

"I  would  do  this." 

The  child  put  both  arms  around  the 
Lefthander  and  nestled  close  to  him. 

"You  would  not  leave  me,  then,  Mig- 
non  ?" 

"  Leave  you  ?" 

"  I  mean  you  would  not,  even  if  there 
were  other  people  who  wanted  you,  who 
could  make  your  life  pleasanter  to  you  ? 
Let  me  tell  you  what  I  mean,  little  one — 
there  is  something  I  ought  to  say  to  you." 
His  voice  had  grown  deep  and  full  of 
sudden  emotion — he  drew  long  breaths. 

"  I  am  poor,  and  your  life  is  a  hard  one. 
Suppose,  once  more,  that  I  was  not  your 
father,  and  your  real  father  was  a  rich 
man.  Suppose  you  had  only  to  choose 
which  you  would  stay  with — the  poor 
man  or  the  rich  one.  Suppose  your 
real  father  could  give  you  pretty  dresses, 
and  nice  things  of  every  sort,  while  the 
other  one  could  not  do  that — he  could 
only  give  you  his  love.  Which  would 
you  choose?" 

Mouse  looked  at  him  in  utter  astonish- 
ment at  his  fantastic  speech.  What  could 
he  mean  ?  Her  mind  was  in  a  maze. 

"  Are  you  in  earnest,  poppa  ?"  she  said, 
with  a  look  of  bewilderment. 
I    "  Yes,  Mignon ;  in  dead  earnest.     It  is 
my  fancy  to  ask  you  —  tell  me  —  would 
you  leave  me  or  stay  with  me  ?" 

"  I  would  stay  with  you,  and  be  your 
Mignon  to  the  last  day  of  your  life !"  ex- 
claimed the  child.  "  You  are  my  father, 
and  I  love  you  more  than  everything  in 
this  world !" 

Mouse  nestled  still  closer,  and  leaned 
her  small  face  against  his  own ;  the  little 
white  cheek  was  like  a  snow-drop  against 
the  bearded  face. 

"The  very  idea  of  leaving  you  —  or 
your  leaving  me  —  I  would  rather  die!" 
she  said. 

The  Lefthander  raised  his  head  and 
looked  upward.  His  lips  were  moving, 
and  he  seemed  to  be  praying. 

Suddenly  hoof-strokes  were  heard  ap- 
proaching rapidly  from  the  direction  of 
the  ford.  The  Lefthander  turned  his 
head  and  saw  Daddv  Welles  coming  on 


at  a  l"iiur  o-allop,  with  his  rille  in  his  hand. 
In  a  moment  he  had  reached  the  spot,  and 
said  to  the  Lefthander, 

"lie  on  the  lookout,  friend  ;   the  troops 
will  be  in  Piedmont  t.i-night." 


I. XXV. 

THE    DEAD    AND    LIVING. 

MR.  LASCELLES  had  ridden  on  toward 
the  Gap.  At  first  he  went  at  ;i  gallop; 
then  he  slackened  his  pace,  and  finally 
came  down  to  a  walk.  With  knit  brows 
and  a  face  full  of  unutterable  tiling,  he 
went  along  looking  down  and  reflecting. 

lie  was  going  to  see  Miss  Bassick,  but 
he  did  not  think  of  her  once.  He  was 
far  away  from  Virginia,  and  living  in  past 
years.  He  had  gone  back  to  the  time 
when  he  was  young,  and  had  loved  with 
his  heart ;  he  had  deserted  the  woman 
thus  loved,  and  she  was  dead  now.  It 
was  enough  to  break  the  heart  to  think 
of  it — but  she  was  dead.  As  long  as  he 
could  think  of  her  as  living,  and  as  hav- 
ing probably  formed  a  connection  with 
some  Bohemian  boor,  his  heart  was  at 
rest,  and  he  thought  that  he  cared  noth- 
ing for  her.  It  had  been  a  youthful  liai- 
son, to  be  regretted,  perhaps,  but  not 
mourned  over.  She  had  forgotten  him,  no 
doubt,  and  he  was  thus  at  liberty  to  for- 
get her — the  past  would  be  the  past  for 
both  of  them,  and  fall  like  a  funeral  pall 
over  their  dead  loves. 

Now  things  were  different,  he  found. 
She  had  not  forgotten  him,  and  had  not 
married  again — she  was  dead — and  dead 
from  his  desertion  !  There  was  no  one 
there  on  the  lonely  mountain -road  to 
argue  with — he  was  alone  with  h; 
heart.  He  had  killed  her,  and  Ibe  thought 
drove  him  to  despair.  His  love  for  her 
had  been  very  different  from  hi- 
ment  toward  Miss  Bassick ;  there  wa<  as 
much  difference  between  the  two 
ments  as  between  sunshine  and  darkness. 
He  had  really  loved  his  little  bride  of  the 
Bohmerwald,  and  had  been  happier  with 
her  than  he  had  ever  been  before  or  since  ; 
and  thinking  now  of  what  had  followed, 


222 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


he  lost  sight  of  everything  —  of  worldly 
views,  the  inequality  of  their  position,  and 
every  ohstacle — and  cursed  his  own  frivo- 
lous temperament  and  love  of  change, 
which  had  made  him  leave  her,  slowly 
forget  her,  and  never  return  to  her.  He 
had  loved  her,  he  felt  that,  now  that  he 
knew  she  was  dead.  The  flowers  of 
memory  grow  on  graves.  He  remember- 
ed every  feature  of  her  face,  her  smile, 
the  light  in  her  blue  eyes,  the  touch  of 
her  hand,  and  his  frame  shook. 

His  face,  as  he  rode  on  slowly,  was  not 
a  pleasant  spectacle.  Pain,  physical  or 
mental,  writes  itself  on  the  eyes  and  lips, 
as  the  storm  writes  itself  on  the  face  of  a 
landscape.  In  an  hour  this  man  seemed 
to  have  lost  his  identity.  A  great  agony 
had  transfigured  him. 

As  he  got  to  the  top  of  the  mountain 
he  suddenly  put  his  hand  into  his  breast- 
pocket and  drew  forth  Miss  Bassick' s 
picture,  which  hung  upon  a  silken  guard 
around  his  neck.  There  was  enough  light 
to  see  by,  and  he  looked  long  at  the  face, 
with  its  physical  beauty  and  provoking 
smile.  The  face  seemed  ugly  to  him — 
the  cheeks  painted.  The  smile  he  had 
admired  so  was  immodest,  not  the  smile 
of  a  pure  midden.  The  eyes  of  a  woman 
ought  not  to  look  at  a  man  as  the  eyes  of 
the  picture  looked  at  him.  The  truth 
came  to  him  as  a  night  landscape  lives  in 
the  quick  lightning-flash — he  understood 
all  now.  The  senses  had  usurped  the 
seat  of  love ;  darkness  had  swallowed  up 
the  dawn. 

Then  he  thought  of  Mignon  and  his 
child,  an<l  n  sob  followed  the  thought. 
His  own  Miu;n<>n  was  dead,  but  had  left  a 
little  Mignon  to  love.  As  to  doubting 
the  Lefthander's  statement,  that  never  en- 
tered his  mind.  He  felt  that  every  word 
was  true,  and  now  remembered  what  in- 
deed had  impressed  him  vaguely  on  his 
visit  that  day — the  likeness  between  the 
child  and  hi>  Minion.  Oh  yes,  this  was 
his  child,  and  he  meant  to  cherish  her  f oi- 
lier mother's  sake,  if  not  for  her  own. 
He  would  acknowledge  all ! 

It  was  very  little :  he  would  have  cour- 
age to  do  it.  Yes,  he  would  do  what 


was  yet  in  his  power  to  right  a  great 
wrong.  She  was  dead  —  his  Mignon  of 
the  Bohmerwald  —  but  she  would  smile 
on  him  then  !  As  he  thought  of  that  he 
remembered  her  smile,  and  the  faint  light 
in  the  blue  eyes  as  she  came  to  meet  him, 
with  her  white  arms  held  out  to  him. 
He  heard  her  little  sigh  of  pleasure,  and 
the  caressing  voice  that  greeted  him.  The 
picture  of  Miss  Bassick  fell  from  his  hand, 
and  but  for  the  guard  would  have  dropped 
into  the  road.  A  single  tear  rolled  down 
his  cheek.  It  was  so  hot  that  it  seemed 
a  wonder  it  did  not  burn  what  it  fell 
upon. 

Suddenly  thrusting  the  picture  back 
into  his  pocket  he  broke  into  a  gallop ; 
and,  as  if  seeking  to  outrun  his  thoughts, 
went  at  full  speed  down  the  mountain. 
He  did  not  go  toward  Wye,  but  kept  the 
main  road  to  Piedmont,  and  dismounted 
at  last  before  the  small  house  in  the  sub- 
urbs occupied  by  Miss  Grundy. 

Miss  Bassick  had  heard  the  hoof-strokes 
of  his  horse,  and  came  to  meet  him  in  the 
drawing-room.  Never  had  he  seen  her 
look  more  provokingly  beautiful,  or  fuller 
of  physical  attraction.  Her  eyes  melted ; 
her  lips  pouted,  and  seemed  asking  to  be 
kissed ;  her  white  arms  moved  vaguely,  as 
though  ready  not  only  to  be  clasped  bujt 
to  clasp. 

Miss  Bassick  had,  in  truth,  determined 
to  dissipate  that  distrait  mood  and  rather 
chill  preoccupation  which  she  had  ob- 
served and  raged  at  in  their  last  inter- 
view. She  closed  the  drawing-room  door 
and  came  up  to  him,  leaning  toward  him. 
Her  face  and  body  said,  "Take  me  !" 

Mr.  Lascelles  sat  down. 

For  a  moment  Miss  Bassick  stood  look- 
ing at  him,  and  it  taxed  her  powers  of 
aetinu;  to  the  very  utmost  to  conceal  the 
internal  ra^e  which  had  suddenly  taken 
possession  of  her. 

"One  would  really  say  that  monsieur 
had  seen  a  ghost,  he  looks  so  woe-be- 
gone,"  she  said,  with  satirical,  almost  bit- 
ter emphasis 

"  I  have/'  said  Mr.  Lascelles. 

"  A  ghost !     Indeed !" 

"  I  have  seen  my  wife." 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


Miss  Bassick  felt  as  though  she  were 
suddenly  choking. 

"  Your  wife  !" 

"  They  were  right  when  they  told  you 
I  had  a  wife." 

"  And — you  have — seen  her  ?" 

"  1  Icr  ghost,  I  said.    My  wife  is  dead  !" 

Miss  Bassick  drew  a  great  breatli  of 
relief,  and  said,  in  the  same  satiric  tone, 

"  I  congratulate  you,  if  you  wish  to  be 
congratulated." 

"  Congratulate  me  ?" 

He  looked  sidewise  at  her.  His  glance 
was  like  the  lunge  of  a  steel  blade. 

"  As  you  please :  it  is  indifferent  to 
me.  Choose  your  own  sentiment  for  the 
occasion." 

The  intonation  of  contempt  in  his  voice 
suddenly  enraged  her.  The  profound  dis- 
simulation of  her  character  gave  way  to 
passion. 

"One  would  say  that  your  sentiment, 
whatever  it  is,  excludes  common  cour- 
tesy." 

"  If  I  am  discourteous  I  beg  you  will 
excuse  it,  madam.  I  am  fatigued — near- 
ly ill." 

She  refused  to  accept  the  explanation. 
Bitter  resentment  mastered  her. 

"  That  scarcely  accounts  for  your  tone 
—it  is  an  insult !" 

"  I  do  not  mean  to  insult  you." 

"People  who — love,  speak  in  a  differ- 
ent tone.  If  you  love  me  no  longer,  tell 
me  so." 

He  hesitated,  looking  at  her.  Her  face 
was  hot  with  anger. 

"  You  exact  the  truth,  then  ?"  he  said. 

"Yes." 

"You  force  me  to  speak.  I  would 
avoid  doing  so.  Well,  to  be  frank  —  I 
think  we  have  deceived  each  other." 

"  Deceived !     Speak  for  yourself,  sir." 

"I  will  do  so.  I  never  really  loved 
you." 

"  This  is  an  insult ! — an  outrage  ! — it 
is  unworthy  of  a  gentleman  !" 

"  Perhaps ;  and  I  am  not  so  sure  that 
I  am  a  gentleman." 

He  spoke  in  the  cold,  dull  tone  which 
he  had  preserved  from  the  beginning. 

"  I  have  done  that  in  my  life,"  he  went 


on,   "which    a    gentleman    could    hardly 
have  d«»nc.      I  have  married  a  pur.- 

an  who  loved  me,  and  deserted  i 

was  a  coward — n.>t.  a  gentleman — havr  it 
as  you  will,  madam.  Hut  1  ha\  • 
her  face  to-night,  ami  it  comet  !•• 
all  other  loves.  She  is  dead  yea 
but  reaches  out  her  hands  from  th< 
and  they  chill  me." 

Miss  Bassick  had  not  seated    h 
Her  superb  figure  towered  above  him  in 
an  attitude  which  would  have  d.»n«?  honor 
to  the  mythological  Furies. 

"And  you  think  I  am  to  be  treated  in 
this  manner — you  dare  to  treat  me  so!" 

He  shook  his  head.  His  dull,  mourn- 
ful eyes,  full  of  hopeless  anguish,  had 
never  changed  their  expression. 

"  It  is  little  to  me  to  dare  anything," 
he  said.  "I  have  seen  to-night  what 
hardens  my  nerves  —  strong  nem-s,  f.-r 
that  matter,  which  have  never  shrunk 
yet.  To  speak  plainer  still:  I  thought 
I  loved  you,  and  I  do  not  love  you.  All 
ends  here  between  us,  and  needs  must 
end.  It  is  best  to  tell  you  that," 

He  took  the  picture  and  laid  it  on  the 
table. 

"This  is  your  property.  You  have 
nothing  that  I  desire  to  have  returned  to 
me." 

He  rose  and  stood  facing  her,  as  though 
conscious,  for  the  first  time,  of  th 
courtesy  in  seating  himself. 

"  You  will  pardon  me — I  was  fatigued, 
and  scarcely  aware  that  you  were  stand- 
ing." 

Suddenly  the  fury  appeared  in  all  the 
force  of  her  rage. 

"You  are  a  common  person,  sir! — a 
low  person  ! — you  shall  repent  \\\\< !" 

The  taunt  did  not  affect  him.  The 
threat  even  afforded  him  a  dull  sati>fac- 
tion,  and  a  bitter  smile  came  to  his  lips. 

"  Do  you  mean  by  poison,  or  a  suit  for 
breach  of  promise,  madam  .'" 

He  looked  around  him,  and  saw  pen, 
ink,  and  paper  on  a  table  near. 

"That  is  your  due,  and,  if  you  wish, 
we  need  not  go  into  court.  As  you  wi-h, 
I  say — it  is  indifferent  to  me." 

She  made  no  reply.     Did  she  under- 


224 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


stand  his  meaning,  and  not  resent  it? 
He  seemed  to  think  so.  He  went  to  the 
table,  and  wrote  a  check  for  a  consider- 
able amount.  He  then  left  it  lying  on 
the  table  and  rose.  As  his  gloves  were 
lying  by  him,  he  took  them  and  slowly 
put  them  on.  Then  he  took  his  hat,  and 
made  Miss  Bassick  a  bow. 

"  Farewell,  madam  !"  he  said. 

As  he  spoke  it  required  all  Miss  Bas- 
sick's  self-control  to  prevent  herself  from 
springing  at  him. 

"Coward!"  she  cried,  in  a  voice  so 
hoarse  and  furious  that  it  cut  like  a  whip. 

"  I  was  a  worse  coward  once,"  he  said, 
"and  only  act  my  nature.  Farewell, 
madam !" 

And  he  went  out  of  the  apartment  and, 
mounting  his  horse,  rode  away.  Miss 
Bassick  remained  standing  in  the  middle 
of  the  room,  looking  after  him.  Her  face 
was  the  face  of  a  fury.  She  raised  the 
little  handkerchief  in  her  hand  and  tore 
it  with  her  white  teeth.  As  she  stood 
thus,  trembling  with  rage,  she  resembled 
a  tigress  about  to  spring ;  but,  after  all,  the 
business  woman  was  under  the  tigress. 

From  the  door  through  which  he  had 
disappeared  her  eyes  passed  to  the  table. 
The  check  was  lying  there,  and  she  went 
and  took  it  up  and  looked  at  it. 

\Vns  there  balm  in  it?  Her  face  grew 
calmer;  an  expression  of  fierce  satisfac- 
tion even  took  the  place  of  her  fury. 
She  folded  up  the  paper,  put  it  like  a 
love-token  in  her  bosom,  and  slowly  went 
up  to  her  chamber. 

Mr.  Lascelles  had  ridden  away,  absorb- 
ed in  gloomy  thought,  but  something  sud- 
denly drew  his  attention  to  the  world 
around  him. 

As  he  passed  by  the  tavern,  which  was 
full  of  lights,  he  observed  figures  in  blue 
uniforms  swarming  in  the  l>:ir-room,  and 
hoard  the  dash  of  spurs  and  sabres. 
Ainonu:  the  blue  figures  he  noticed  others 
clad  in  citizen's  dress — the  marshal  wh<mi 
he  had  accompanied  to  the  mountain,  and 
his  revenue  collectors ;  also  the  figure  of 
no  less  a  personage  than  Mr.  Uncles,  who 
seemed  engaged  in  fraternizing  and  im- 
bibing liquids  with  his  blue  friends.  The 


troops  were  United  States  cavalry,  refresh- 
ng  themselves  with  strong  potations  af- 
ter a  long  march  that  day ;  and  Mr.  Las- 
celles had  no  difficulty  in  deciding  in  his 
mind  what  brought  them. 

"  Who  are  these  people,  Tom  ?"  he  said 
to  a  stable-boy  passing  with  a  lantern. 

"De  Yankee  cabblery,  Mas'  Douglas, 
come  to  stirminate  de  moonshine  people," 
was  the  grinning  response.  "De  marshal 
heself  in  dar — gwyne  to  set  out  early." 

Mr.  Lascelles  rode  up  close,  leaned  over 
and  counted  the  number.  There  were 
twenty-five  men.  He  then  rode  away  to- 
ward Wye. 


LXXVI. 

BLUE    COATS    IN   BOHEMIA. 

THE  moment  had  come  at  last  when 
the  issues  between  the  Government  and 
the  moonshiners  seemed  about  to  be  de- 
cided by  an  appeal  to  arms.  All  the 
morning  the  marshal  was  fretting  to  get 
to  saddle.  But  delays  will  take  place  in 
the  best  arranged  programmes.  It  was 
important  to  surprise  the  moonshine  pe> 
pie,  for  which  reason  the  troops  had  been 
timed  to  reach  Piedmont  at  midnight. 
They  were  to  have  set  out  at  dawn,  but 
many  of  the  horses  had  cast  their  shoes 
on  the  march  and  limped.  It  would  not 
do  to  attempt  the  rocky  mountain-roads 
without  replacing  the  shoes,  and  it  was 
not  until  past  noon  that  this  was  accom- 
plished. 

Then  the  search-warrants  were  not  ol>- 
tained  yet,  and  the  marshal  was  obliged 
to  go  to  Wye  for  them,  as  General  Las- 
celles was  the  nearest  magistrate.  There 
was  a  stormy  interview.  The  general 
protested  against  the  employment  of 
troops;  but  the  marshal  replied,  stitlly, 
that  he  obeyed  his  orders,  and  galloped 
away  with  the  warrants  in  his  pocket. 

The  troops  were  already  on  the  maivh, 
as  the  officer  had  seen  them  leave  Pied- 
mont before  his  departure  for  W\ 
prompt  irruption  into  Bohemia  he  hoped 
would  take  the  enemy  unawares,  and  re- 
solving that  he  would  make  an  end  of  the 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


business  this  time,  the  marshal  hastened 
on  from  Wye  toward  the  Gap. 

lie  caught  up  with  the  troops  and  rev- 
enue-officers at  the  foot  of  the  mountain 
on  the  opposite  side.  The  cavalry  num- 
bered twenty-live,  and  were  regulars  com- 
manded by  a  lieutenant.  Two  or  three 
of  the  marshal's  subordinates  rode  at 
the  head  of  them,  carrying  black  leather 
satchels  slung  from  their  shoulders  for 
the  transaction  of  business. 

"  Well,  lieutenant,  that  is  your  road  to 
the  left,"  the  marshal  said  to  the  com- 
mandant of  the  troop.  "  It  leads  to  the 
home  of  a  man  who  is  the  real  leader  of 
these  people — an  old  fox  named  Welles. 
He  looks  peaceful,  but  is  not  to  be  trusted, 
lie  was  a  furious  bushwhacker  during  the 
war,  and  from  what  I  can  learn  is  willing 
to  have  it  open  again.  Keep  your  eye 
on  him  particularly,  and  warn  your  men 
to  be  ready  to  fire  if  necessary.  There  is 
his  house." 

The  cavalry,  preceded  by  the  revenue- 
officers,  defiled  up  the  road  leading  to  the 
house  on  the  mountain,  the  hoof-strokes 
of  the  horses  clashing  on  the  rocky  path- 
way. It  was  a  very  unusual  sound  in  the 
peaceful  valley.  A  long  time  had  passed 
now  since  Bohemia  had  seen  the  blue 
cavalry,  and  the  valley  bathed  in  the  mild 
sunshine  of  the  Indian  summer  day  seem- 
ed to  be  listening.  Did  it  remember? 
It  had  witnessed  such  scenes  in  the 
"  wild  war  days "  of  the  past.  Was  it 
going  to  look  again  on  men  dyeing  the 
red  autumn  leaves  with  a  redder  tint  than 
before  ? 

If  there  was  to  be  any  fighting,  it  was 
not  going  to  take  place  just  yet.  Daddy 
Welles  was  ,not  at  home,  and  his  aged 
helpmate,  in  response  to  the  marshal's 
statement  that  he  should  search  the  prem- 
ises, expressed  her  perfect  willingness. 
The  search  was  made,  but  resulted  in 
nothing.  There  was  no  spirit  of  any 
description  about  the  abode  of  Daddy 
Welles,  and  the  marshal  bowed  curtly, 
and  remounted  his  horse. 

"  This  is  a  specimen  of  what  we  are  to 
expect,"  he  said,  "at  all  the  houses  we 
search.  These  people  have  been  notified, 
15 


and  have  removed  all  traces  of  their  occu- 
pation. Luckily,  they  can't  remove  the 
stills  so  easily,  and  we  are  apt  to  discover 
some  of  them  before  the  day  is  over." 

He  looked  up  at  the  sun,  which  was 
sinking  toward  the  west,  and  added, 

"  Why  have  we  lost  so  much  time? 
These  December  days  amount  to  nothing. 
It  will  be  bad  to  be  caught  by  night  in 
this  detestable  country.  It  is  bad  eiioii'_rh 
in  broad  daylight — but  there's  nothing  to 
do  but  to  go  on.  Put  your  column  in 
motion,  lieutenant." 

The  young  lieutenant,  who  wore  a  dan- 
dy uniform,  and  was  smoking  a  ciu,ai\ 
gave  his  orders  in  a  nonchalant  voice,  and 
the  troop  began  to  descend  the  mountain 
with' the  revenue-officers  in  front. 

"  I  am  going  to  the  house  of  a  man 
named  Barney  Jones  next,"  said  the  mar- 
shal ;  "a  small  detachment  may  be  sent  to 
a  place  called  Crow's  Nest — but  I  think 
there's  nothing  there.  To  be  plain,  I  ex- 
pect to  find  nothing  and  nobody  any- 
where. The  rascals  are  forewarned,  and 
have  escaped  into  the  mountain — and  to 
say  that  troops  are  not  necessary  to  deal 
with  such  people !  They  are  outlaws,  and 
may  even  resist.  I  advise  you  to  keep 
your  men  well  together,  lieutenant,  and 
look  out  for  a  brush — you  may  have  it." 

"All  right,"  returned  the  lieutenant, 
puffing  at  his  cigar.  "  It  is  my  trade  to 
brush  or  be  brushed,  and  I'll  attend  to 
that;  I  only  wish  it  was  under  other 
circumstances.  This  infernal  moonshine 
business  is  no  better  than  police  duty,  and 
I  didn't  go  through  the  hazing  at  W&A 
Point  for  that." 

"  It  is  a  part  of  the  duty  of  the  army, 
sir,"  said  the  marshal,  somewhat  offend- 
ed. 

"  Is  it  ?  Well,  the  army  does  seem  to 
be  looked  to  in  these  days  to  do  a  little 
of  everything.  It  has  now  and  then  oc- 
curred to  me  that  the  authorities  mi<_rht 
apply  to  somebody  else.  Leave  us  to  go 
after  the  Indians,  who  are  interesting  ani- 
mals to  deal  with,  and  if  you  want  a  po- 
lice force  to  operate  in  the  States,  enroll  a 
battalion  of  black  coats  out  of  the  swarm 
of  civil  employes — they  ought  to  smell  a 


226 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


little  powder  if  any  is  to  be  burnt — it 
would  enlarge  their  ideas.  But  that  don't 
suit  them." 

The  nonchalant  tone  of  the  lieutenant 
betrayed  his  opinion  of  civilians,  and  the 
marshal  was  much  offended.  He  would, 
perhaps,  have  made  some  reply  indicative 
of  his  opinion  as  to  the  results  of  the 
military  movements  against  the  Western 
Indians,  but  at  that  moment  the  vidette 
in  front  was  heard  halting  some  one. 
They  could  not  see  who  this  some  one 
was,  as  a  dense  wall  of  rock  rose  between 
them  and  the  stream  from  the  direction 
of  which  the  sound  came.  The  marshal 
spurred  forward,  and  saw  that  the  person 
halted  was  Mr.  Lascelles. 


LXXVII. 

THE    LAST    GREETING. 

As  the  troop  of  horsemen  had  obliqued 
from  the  Gap  into  the  mountain-road,  a 
man  had  passed  the  rear  of  the  column 
at  a  gallop,  and  this  man  was  Mr.  Las- 
celles. 

Some  of  the  troop  turned  their  heads, 
and  possibly  wondered  where  this  horse- 
man was  going  at  his  long  gallop ;  but  as 
that  was  none  of  their  business  they  dis- 
missed him  from  their  minds,  rightly  con- 
cluding that  a  soldier's  business  is  to  obey 
orders,  not  think. 

Mr.  Lascelles  crossed  the  bridge,  turned 
into  the  road  leading  by  Falling  Water, 
and  went  on  at  a  headlong  gallop.  The 
mournful  composure  of  the  rider  was  in 
vivid  contrast  with  the  quick  movements 
of  the  animal.  The  horseman  seemed 
scarcely  aware  that  he  was  being  borne 
along.  Profound  and  absorbing  thought 
made  him  unconscious  of  Borrounding 
objects.  He  was  thinking,  in  fact,  of  the 
r>ohmenval<l,  and  of  the  face  there  once, 
when  he  was  young  in  heart  and  hope, 
and  all  the  harsh  and  jarring  emotions  of 
his  present  life  had  been  unknown. 

Did  he  think,  too,  of  that  other  face, 
resembling  the  face  of  his  Mignon,  which 
he  was  going  to  see?  Passionate  love 
and  regret  drove  him  on,  as  his  flying  an- 


imal was  driven  by  the  spur.  One  emo- 
tion only  possessed  and  quite  mastered 
him  at  length — he  would  see  her  soon! 
He  had  come  up  out  of  the  depths  of  his 
soiled  love  to  the  pure  air  again.  The 
face  yonder  in  Piedmont,  with  its  physi- 
cal beauty,  its  lasciviousness  and  fury, 
had  disappeared.  He  was  going  to  see 
his  child:  and  with  that  single  thought 
heaven  entered  his  breast. 

At  Falling  Water  he  stopped  and  went 
in.  Mr.  Gary  was  in  the  library. 

"I  have  come  for  a  moment  only — I 
am  in  haste,"  he  said,  grasping  his  host's 
hand. 

"  Welcome,"  Mr.  Gary  said.  "  What 
is  it  moves  you  so?  You  speak  to  a 
friend." 

"  I  know  that.  I  have  no  time,  and 
come  to  the  point.  You  have  a  travel- 
ling-bag, intrusted  to  you  by  the  person 
known  as  the  Lefthander." 

"  Yes,  intrusted  to  my  safe-keeping." 

"  Keep  it  safely.  It  contains  the  evi- 
dence of  my  marriage  in  Europe.  I  was 
married  there,  and  deserted  my  wife.  I 
did  not  know  that  I  had  deserted  my 
child,  too.  My  child  is  the  little  one  at 
Crow's  Nest ;  she  is  Mignon  Lascelles — I 
pray  you  to  remember  that." 

"  Mignon  Lascelles ! — is  it  possible  ?" 

"She  is  my  child." 

He  went  to  the  table  where  the  family 
Bible  lay,  and  rested  his  hand  upon  it. 

"She  is  Mignon  Lascelles.  In  tlic 
presence  of  God  and  of  Jesus  Christ,  in 
whom  I  believe  as  the  Son  of  God,  the 
child  is  mine  —  she  is  Mignon  Lascelles. 
You  will  remember  that  f 

"  Yes,  yes — why  do  you  make  this  sol- 
emn declaration  ?" 

"To  forestall  events  —  whatever  may 
happen.  Life  is  uncertain.  My  child's 
future  is  now  certain.  1  may  share  it* 
and  direct  it — I  may  not  be  permitted  to 
do  so.  It  is  the  same,  since  she  can  want 
nothing  now." 

With  a  hurried  grasp  of  Mr.  Can's 
hand  he  went  out,  without  saying  any- 
thing more,  and  mounted  his  horse.  Re- 
suming the  gallop,  he  went  on  toward 
Crow's  Nest,  reached  the  low  fence  at  the 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


foot  of  the  hill,  leaped  it,  threw  his  bridle 
over  a  bough,  and  hastened  to  tin1  house. 

Mouse  met  him  on  the  threshold.  The 
little  mamma  had  wound  her  hair  into  a 
Grecian  knot  behind,  and  the  delieaie 
outline  of  the  head  had  a  womanly  air 
that  was  charming.  The  man  looking  at 
her  shook.  It  was  his  Mignon  of  the 
Bohmcrwald. 

He  came  up  to  her,  and  could  scarcely 
control  the  passionate  longing  to  clasp 
her  to  his  heart.  He  thought  that  would 
frighten  her,  and  only  stood  looking  at 
her — the  long  look  of  the  human  being 
•who  sees  nothing  and  thinks  of  nothing 
but  the  face  his  eyes  rest  upon,  and  longs 
to  devour  with  caresses. 

"  Your  father — is  lie  here,  little  one  ?" 
he  said. 

Was  it  the  voice  of  Mr.  Lascelles  ?  No 
one  would  have  recognized  it.  It  was 
music,  and  melted  into  cadences  of  ex- 
quisite tenderness. 

"  He  is  not  here,  sir,"  said  Mouse,  not 
at  all  afraid  of  one  who  spoke  in  that 
tone  to  her ;  "  he  has  gone  to  the  moun- 
tain." 

"  I  thought  so — I  came  to  tell  him — 
but  I  will  tell  him  in  time." 

He  turned  his  head  and  looked  across 
the  valley,  listening.  The  sun  was  sink- 
ing, and  long  shadows  ran  across  Bohe- 
mia. In  the  red  light  he  could  see  the 
cavalry  slowly  descending  the  path  from 
the  mountain-house. 

"  There  is  time,"  he  said,  in  a  low  tone ; 
and  addressing  Mouse, 

"You  are  all  alone  here,  my  child?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  You  are  not  afraid  ?" 

"  Oh  no,  sir !" 

"  Not  afraid  of  me  ?  You  were  afraid 
when  I  was  last  here.  Do  not  be  afraid 
of  me ;  we  ought  not  to  fear  those  who 
love  us." 

He  looked  at  her  with  inexpressible 
tenderness,  and  said, 

"  Will  you  tell  me  your  name  ?" 

"  Mignon  Ottendorfer,  sir." 

"  Your  father  is  the  Lefthander  ?" 

"Yes,  sir." 

"And  you  love  him?" 


"Love    poppa?       Oh    \ 
I  I«>w  <-"iild  I  help  loving  him?" 

11  \Yell,  I,  too,  love  him.     He  is  a  brave 
man,  ami  a  better  man  than  I  am.      1  am 
called  a  gentleman  —  it    i-  he  who  is   the 
true  gentleman.     I  am  going  to  sec  him 
now — there  is  no  time  to  lOMb      1 
name  Mignon,  my  child?     I  knew 
non  once  and  loved  her,  and   she  l.>\.-d 
me;  but  she  is  dead,  now.     You  I 
much  likelier  —  oh!  so  very  mueh  like 
my  Mignon,  my  child." 

He  sobbed,  and  stooping  down  took 
the  child  in  his  arms  and  held  her  to  his 
heart,  and  covered  her  face  with  ki 

"You  are  so  like  my  Mignon!  —  the 
same  eyes,  and  the  very  lips:  oh,  10 
very  much  like  my  own  Mignon,  my  own 
child !" 

He  drew  her  closer,  and  leaned  down 
and  laid  his  pale  cheek  on  her  forehead. 
She  could  feel  his  heart  throbbing  and 
his  tears  on  her  cheek.  One  of  his  arms 
was  around  her  neck,  he  placed  the  other 
hand  on  her  hair  and  raised  his  eyes. 
Then  he  pressed  a  last,  long  kiss  on  her 
lips,  and,  with  a  sob  which  shook  his 
whole  frame  from  head  to  foot,  went  out, 
and,  mounting  his  horse,  rode  rapidly  in 
the  direction  of  the  ford. 

He  had  hoped  to  reach  the  mountain 
in  advance  of  the  cavalry.  It  w 
late.  As  he  went  at  full  speed  up  the 
narrow  road  from  the  ford  he  came  sud- 
denly on  the  vedette  sent  out  in  advance, 
and  was  halted. 


LXXVIII. 

THE  ADVANCE  INTO  THE  GORGE. 

THE  marshal  spurred  forward,  fo. 
by  the  young  lieutenant,  and  saw  M 
celles. 

"You,  sir?"  he  said,  stiffly,  for  1, 
in  a  very  bad-humor. 

"  Myself!"  was  the  cold  reply, 
forbidden  to  ride  on  the  Virginia  high- 
way?   Why  am  I  halted— I  may  M 
rested?" 

"  You  are  not  arrested,  sir,"  the  mar- 


228 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


shal  replied,  apparently  conscious  of  the 
justice  of  the  protest. 

"  I  am  halted." 

The  young  lieutenant  interposed,  laugh- 
ing, and  said, 

"  That  was  by  my  order,  sir.  No  of- 
fence to  you  in  particular,  my  dear  Mr. — 
You  have  not  told  me  your  name." 

"Lascelles." 

k'  Well,  you've  fallen  a  victim  to  gener- 
al orders,  my  dear  Mr.  Lascelles.  You  see 
we  are  temporarily  on  the  war-path,  and 
in  the  enemy's  country.  I  don't  mean 
that  the  late  little  unpleasantness  between 
the  sections  is  still  in  progress — and  Heav- 
en forbid  that  a  democrat  like  myself 
should  look  on  old  Virginia  as  an  ene- 
my now.  My  great-grandmother  was  an 
F.  F.  V.,  and  I'm  an  unworthy  scion.  But 
what  the  devil — excuse  me — brings  you 
here  to  this  infernal  Hades,  so  to  call  it? 
It's  dark  enough  now  when  the  sun  is 
setting." 

"  I  came  for  my  pleasure." 

The  deep  and  mournful  voice  affected 
even  the  mercurial  young  West  Pointer. 

"  For  your  pleasure  ?  That's  strange," 
he  said  ;  "  but  every  man  to  his  fancy. 
You  will  pardon  me  for  saying  that  I 
think  your  taste  is  devilish  bad.  It 
gives  me  no  pleasure  at  all  to  be  here,  I 
assure  you  ;  but  there's  no  accounting  for 
tastes  in  this  miserable  world.  Forward 
the  column !"  he  added,  turning  in  his 
saddle  and  calling  out  to  the  men.  lie 
then  added  to  his  companion,  with  a  gay 
laugh, 

"  Happy  to  know  you,  Mr.  Lascelles. 
We  an-  going  after  the  moonshine  peo- 
ple, and  I'm  ghul  to  have  your  company. 
Try  a  cigar  P1 

Mr.  Lascelles  bowed  but  declined,  where- 
up'Hi  the.  young  lieutenant  lit  his  own. 
With  his  o-auntleted  hand  resting  gallant- 
ly «»n  his  hip,  he  rode  on  \\ith  Mr.  La- 
eelle>  l,,>>ide  him. 

.  we  arc  on  the  way  to  annihilate 
the  wretches  that  make  had  whi>ki-y." 
said  the  gay  youth.  "They  drx-rve  it. 
too;  if  it  was  good,  the  MM  would  be 
different.  Here  we  are  in  battle  array, 
and  we'll  probably  have  an  infernal  row 


—  I  heard  a  preacher  in  New  York  use 
that  word  'infernal,'  and  therefore  con- 
sider it '  scriptural !  Yes,  we'll  come  on 
the  moonshiners,  and  I'm  told  they  mean 
to  fight.  All  right,  that's  my  trade.  But 
this  sort  of  thing  is  not  much  to  my  taste. 
Here  they  are — tag,  rag,  and  bobtail,  Mr. 
Lascelles :  collectors,  revenue-commission- 
ers, and  detectives — for  there's  a  detective 
along.  He's  that  villanous-looking  fel- 
low in  the  black  coat  yonder — Ruggles 
by  name.  I  wish  he  was  at  the  devil ! 
Do  try  a  cigar — they  are  excellent." 

Again  declining  the  friendly  offer  of 
his  companion,  Mr.  Lascelles  looked  over 
his  shoulder.  There,  in  fact,  at  the  head 
of  the  column,  some  distance  in  rear,  was 
Mr.  Ruggles.  He  was  not  present  will- 
ingly, and  had  come  only  under  compul- 
sion. Recognized  by  the  marshal,  he  had 
been  drafted  for  the  expedition  :  and  there 
he  was  —  probably  resolved  to  disappear 
at  the  first  crash  of  carbines. 

All  at  once  the  marshal  said,  pointing 
in  front, 

"  There  is  the  house  of  the  man  Jones. 
It  is  useless  to  search  it,  but  we  may  as 
well  go  through  the  form.  We  will  not 
find  the  man." 

The  marshal  was  quite  correct  in  his 
surini.se  that  Mr.  Barney  Jones  would  not 
be  **  at  home  "  on  that  evening.  It  was 
evidently  not  one  of  his  receiving  days. 
A  hard-featured  woman,  with  a  baby  in 
her  arms,  and  a  series  of  tow -headed 
young  ones,  rising  above  each  other  with 
a  regularity  which  implied  that  the  ma- 
tron was  a  fruitful  vine,  appeared  at  the 
door,  and  confronted  the  visitors.  Was 
Mr.  Jones  at  home?  No,  Mr.  Jon. 
not  at  home.  Where  was  he  to  be  found  ? 
They  might  find  that  out  for  themselves, 
if  they  could.  He  was,  likely,  huntin' 
somewhere,  and  shot  off  his  gun  at  a 
vrntur'  in  the  woods  often.  It  was  dan- 
g'rous  to  l>e  ridin'  round  in  the  mounting 
when  l»arney  Jones  was  a-huntin'. 

"As  I  expected,"  the  marshal  said: 
"  any  search  would  be  a  mere  farce." 

"  I  think  it  would,"  said  the  lieutenant, 
indifferently.  "  Wo  had  better  go  on  or 
go  back.  If  I  am  consulted  I'll  s 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


229 


back,  as  I'm  getting  devilish  hungry  and 
thirsty;  but  that's  no  matter.  If  y..n 
are  anxious  to  go  on,  and  interview  Mr. 
Haniey  Jones,  Tin  ready. " 

"Go  on?  Of  course  T  shall,  sir!"  the 
marshal  said ;  M  and  I  will  call  your  at- 
tention to  the  fact,  sir,  that  your  orders 
are  to  assist  in  these  arrests !" 

"  I  don't  think  you'll  make  any,  from 
present  appearances,"  returned  the  young 
officer ;  "  but  give  your  orders.  I  brought 
along  my  overcoat,  and  wish  there  was  a 
llask  in  the  pocket.  But  if  we  meet  any 
of  the  moonshiners  they  may  have  the 
politeness  to  offer  us  a  drink." 

The  column  moved  on,  and  entered  the 
gorge  extending  up  to  the  Hogback.  The 
sun  was  sinking,  and  the  long  red  rays 
pierced  the  glades  like  spears,  and  fell  in 
vivid  crimson  on  the  rocks,  covered  with 
variegated  mosses.  From  in  front  came 
the  low  sigh  of  the  pines  in  the  depths 
of  the  gorge;  from  the  rear  no  sound 
was  heard  but  the  measured  hoof-strokes 
of  the  troopers. 

Bohemia  was  waiting,  and  expecting 
something — you  could  see  that. 


LXXIX. 

FAREWELL  TO    BOHEMIA. 

BOHEMIA  was  in  all  its  last  and  crown- 
ing glory. 

Not  the  glory  of  the  fresh  spring  morn- 
ings, when  the  violets  first  come  and  the 
buttercups  star  the  glades  and  the  fields ; 
nor  yet  the  glory  of  the  summer  days, 
when  the  clouds  drift  on  the  blue  sky, 
and  the  green  foliage  of  the  forest  is 
alive  with  singing  birds;  nor  the  au- 
tumn glory  of  splendid  colors  and  dreamy 
hours,  when  the  heart  dreams  of  other 
hours,  and  sees  the  faces  that  have  gone 
many  a  year  into  the  dust;  but  the  glory 
of  the  last  moments  of  the  Indian  sum- 
mer— the  Nurse  of  the  Halcyon  which 
cradled  the  Greek  fancy — this  had  come 
now,  and  the  year  was  bidding  farewell 
to  Bohemia,  and  expiring  in  a  dream  of 
beauty. 


There  were  few  leaves  clinging  to  the 
ihe  \\inds  had  swept  them.  They 
lay  on  the  ground,  and  formed  a  deep 
yellow  carpet.  Here  and  there  a  cedar, 
forming  a  perfect  cone,  stood  out  like  a 
sentinel  from  a  background  of  roe! 
over  rock  and  cedar,  and  under  th< 
pines,  trailed  the  autumn  creepers  with 
bright  crimson  berries,  glittering  like 
coral  beads  in  the  light  of  the  sunset. 
That  sunset  light  made  the  glory  more 
glorious.  It  was  dashed  on  rock  and 
tree,  and  lit  up  the  gorge  with  a  sombre 
splendor:  the  wild  pines,  the  dark  depth-, 
the  figures  of  the  troopers,  and  the  sk\ 
above.  You  would  have  said  that  it  had 
come  to  salute  Bohemia  for  the  last  time, 
and  that  thereafter  her  glory  would  be  a 
dream. 

The  column  was  in  the  gorge,  and  was 
advancing  over  a  narrow  bridle-path,  when 
the  young  lieutenant  ordered  "  halt !" 

"I  saw  the  gleam  of  a  gun -barrel  on 
that  height  yonder,"  he  said  to  the  mar- 
shal. "As  we're  about  to  proceed  to 
business,  let  us  act  in  a  business-like 
manner.'* 

He  sent  forward  an  advance-guard  of 
three  men  with  instructions.  These  were 
to  keep  a  keen  lookout  on  the  bluffs 
above,  and  if  fired  upon  return  the  fire, 
and  fall  back  upon  the  column. 

"  You  won't  have  far  to  fall  back," 
added  the  young  fellow.  "  I'll  be  close 
behind  you." 

The  advance-guard  went  in  front,  and 
disappeared  around  a  bend  in  the  road. 
The  spot  was  wild  beyond  expression,  and 
lofty  heights  extended  like  walls 
ther  side  as  the  column  proceeded.  Be- 
yond the  tops  of  the  trees  could  be  seen 
the  long  blue  line  of  the  Blue  Ridge  on 
the  left ;  and  on  the  right  rose  the  bris- 
tling and  threatening  crest  of  the  Hog- 
back. 

"I  beijin  to  think  the  moonshin 
going  to  fight,  Mr.  Lascelles,"  said  the 
lieutenant,  lighting  a  fresh  cigar.  "  I  saw 
the  man  with  the  gun  as  plainly  as  I  see 
you.  There  arc  probably  some  stills  in 
the  vicinity  here — it  is  the  very  place  for 
them;  and  I  think  the  moonshiners,  like 


230 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


good  patriots,  are  going  to  die  by  their 
altars  and  fires !" 

A  shot  rung  out  as  he  spoke  from  the 
direction  of  the  vanguard;  and  then  a 
rattling  volley  followed,  and  the  men 
were  seen  coming  back  at  a  gallop. 

"  Well,"  said  the  lieutenant,  coolly, 
"what's  up?" 

The  report  was  that  they  had  been  fired 
upon — apparently  from  a  barricade  in  the 
mouth  of  a  small  gorge  debouching  into 
the  main  one. 

"  I  think  it  probable  there's  a  barricade, 
which  is  not  a  bad  thing  to  fight  behind," 
said  the  lieutenant,  smoking  and  reflect- 
ing. "  Well,  I'm  going  to  charge  it,  as  a 
matter  of  course.  I'll  have  some  saddles 
emptied,  I  rather  suppose,  but  that's  to 
be  looked  for." 

"  It  is  unfortunate,"  said  Mr.  Lascelles ; 
"  it  would  be  better  to  have  no  blood- 
shed." 

"Vastly  preferable,  I  allow,  but  the 
devil  of  the  thing  is  to  avoid  it.  I'm  not 
speaking  for  myself;  I'm  engaged  to  a 
pretty  girl,  but  she'll  have  to  take  her 
chances  for  a  wedding.  This  is  my  busi- 
ness— and  after  all,  too,  it's  the  business 
of  these  good  fellows  on  both  sides.  So 
here's  for  a  charge !" 

"  A  moment,"  said  Mr.  Lascelles ;  "you 
ought  to  summon  them  to  surrender." 

"  Useless — but  it  would  be  more  regu- 
lar." 

"  I'll  take  the  summons." 

"You!" 

"  Certainly,  with  very  great  pleasure." 

"You'll  be  shot!" 

"No.  They  might  shoot  one  of  your 
men  in  his  uniform,  but  they  will  not 
shoot  me.  I  am  in  citizen's  dress,  and 
will  raise  rny  white  handkerchief." 

"That  is  true  —  but  suppose  you're 
shot.  You  have  nothing  to  do  with  this 
business.  I  like  your  face,  Mr.  Lascelles, 
though  it's  rather  mournful.  You  wen- 
cut  out  for  a  soldier,  but  then  you  aiv  a 
civilian.  Well,  do  as  you  choose." 

"  I  will  go,  then,  and  deliver  your  sum- 
mons. You  will  wait?" 

"  Yes,  but  be  quick.    Night  is  coming." 

"If  I  am  not  back  in  ten  minutes  it 


will  be  because  they  refuse.  Then  you 
can  charge." 

He  put  spurs  to  his  horse,  and,  without 
troubling  himself  to  display  the  white 
handkerchief,  went  at  a  swift  gallop  for- 
ward into  the  gorge. 

The  shadows  grew  deeper  as  he  went, 
and  the  overhanging  banks  more  densely 
wooded.  He  was  penetrating  to  the  most 
mysterious  depths  of  the  gorge. 

Suddenly  a  voice  called  "  Halt !"  and 
he  saw  the  gleam  of  gun-barrels  behind  a 
barricade  of  felled  trees.  He  paid  no  at- 
tention to  the  order,  and  reaching  the 
barricade  leaped  to  the  ground. 


LXXX. 

THE     BARRICADE. 

THE  Lefthander  was  standing  on  the 
top  of  the  barricade,  with  a  carbine  in  his 
hand.  It  was  he  who  had  ordered  "  halt," 
but  he  did  not  raise  his  weapon.  He  had 
recognized  Mr.  Lascelles,  and  quietly  wait- 
ed. 

Behind  him  were  grouped  nearly  a 
dozen  rough-looking  figures  armed  to  the 
teeth ;  among  these  were  Daddy  Welles, 
Barney  Jones,  and  Harry  Vance.  Under 
low  drooping  boughs  in  rear  of  the  barri- 
cade was  a  rude  door  in  the  rock.  Be- 
hind this  door,  which  the  pine  boughs 
brushed,  was  the  still. 

The  barricade  itself  was  constructed  of 
felled  trees,  and  about  breast-high.  Be- 
hind this  the  moonshiners  were  obviously 
going  to  fight. 

Mi-.  Lascelles  threw  his  bridle  over  his 
horse's  neck,  and  mounted  the  barricade. 

"They  are  coining,"  lie  said  to  the 
Lefthander,  "  and  I  have  come  to  summon 
you  to  surrender." 

"To  surrender?  We  will  not  surren- 
der," said  the  phlegmatic  athlete. 

"I  knew  that,  and  so  that's  done  with. 
They  will  charge  you  in  ten  minutes;  but 
there  will  be  time  to  say  what  I  came  to 
say  to  you.  I  have  been  to  Crow's  Nest." 

He  took  the  Lefthander  by  the    arm 

and  drew  him  aside.     For  some  moments 

loii     of  moonshiners  saw  the   two 


VIUCIXIA   BOHEMIANS. 


231 


men  engaged  in  l>w,  earnest  talk.  Then 
they  saw  them  grasp  hands  and  come 
back  toward  the  group. 

As  tliov  did  so  the  troopers  charged 
the  barricade. 

A  volley  met  it  in  the  face,  and  the 
horses,  wild  with  fright,  wheeled  and  re- 
treated in  disorder. 

"Halt!"  the  lieutenant's  voice  was 
heard  shouting,  as  he  whirled  his  light 
sabre.  "  Form  column  in  rear!  —  I'll 
soon  attend  to  this." 

The  men  stopped,  and  fell  into  column 
again  just  beyond  range  of  the  fire  of  the 
barricade. 

"  Dismount  and  deploy  skirmishers ! 
Advance  on  both  flanks  and  in  front! 
I'll  be  in  the  centre." 

And  throwing  himself  from  his  horse, 
he  formed  the  line  of  skirmishers.  Then, 
at  the  ringing  "  Forward "  of  the  game 
young  fellow,  the  skirmishers  closed  in 
steadily,  firing  as  they  did  so  on  the  bar- 
ricade. 

All  at  once  the  quiet  scene  was  turned 
into  the  stage  of  a  tragic  drama.  Nature 
was  pitiless  and  serene;  the  red  crowns 
were  rising  peacefully  from  the  summits 
of  the  trees ;  a  crow  was  winging  his  way 
toward  the  sunset  on  slow  wings;  it  was 
a  scene  to  soothe  dying  eyes,  if  the  light 
needs  must  disappear  from  them. 

In  ten  minutes  it  had  disappeared  from 
more  than  one  on  both  sides.  The  moon- 
shiners were  evidently  determined  to  fight 
hard,  and  only  give  way  when  they  were 
forced  to  do  so.  The  crack  of  the  sharp- 
shooters was  answered  from  behind  the 
barricade,  and  the  gorge  was  full  of  smoke 
and  shouts  as  the  assailants  closed  in. 

They  did  so  steadily,  like  good  troops, 
and  at  last  rushed  upon  the  barricade. 
There  a  hand-to-hand  fight  followed,  and 
it  was  a  weird  spectacle  in  the  half  gloom. 
In  the  shadowry  gorge  the  figures  were 
only  half  seen  as  the  light  faded,  and  the 
long  thunder  of  the  carbines  and  shout- 
ing rolled  through  the  mountain,  awak- 
ing lugubrious  echoes  in  the  mysterious 
depths. 

The  moonshiners  fought  desperately, 
but  the  fight  was  of  no  avail.  They  were 


outnumbered,  and,  after   li»ing   101 
their  best  men,  si-altered  into  tin-  moun- 
tain.    Among   those    \\ho   thus   escaped 
were    Paddy    Welles,    I'.arney    .|.-n. 
Harry  Yanee.      The  parting  salutes  from 
their  carbines  VH-IV  heard  from  the  heights 
as  they  retreated;   and  the  barricade  \\as 
in  possession  of  the  cavalry. 

The  young  lieutenant  Leaped  <>n  the 
felled  trees,  and  stood  there  looking 
around. 

"A  good  work  —  constructed  by  sol- 
diers," he  said;  "and  they  were  --anie, 
too." 

He  was  tying  up  his  arm  with  a  white 
handkerchief.  A  bullet  had  passed  com- 
pletely through  the  fleshy  part,  and  it  was 
bleeding. 

lie  leaped  down  into  the  barricade. 
Suddenly  he  stopped  —  he  had  nearly 
trodden  upon  something:  it  was  the 
body  of  Mr.  Lascelles.  A  bullet  had 
passed  through  his  forehead,  and  he  \\as 
quite  dead.  The  shot  had  been  fired  from 
behind  a  rock  by  the  man  whom  he  had 
lashed  that  day  in  the  "NVyc  woods — his 
bitter  enemy. 

At  three  paces  from  the  body  of 
Mr.  Lascelles  lay  the  Lefthander — dead. 
Three  other  moonshiners  were  danger- 
ously wounded,  and  were  leaning  against 
the  barricade.  They  closed  their  eyes,  as 
though  to  avoid  seeing  the  blue  uniforms. 
They  were  probably  troopers  of  the  old 
battles  of  Ashby,  and  accepted  their  fate 
like  soldiers,  not  complaining. 

As  to  the  faces  of  Mr.  Lascelles  and 
the  Lefthander,  they  were  quite  tranquil. 
They  had  died,  in  fact,  with  little  pain, 
and  perhaps  willingly.  Kaeh  had  mut- 
tered the  same  name  as  the  light  faded, 
and  they  went  into  the  darkness.  This 
name  was  "  Mignon." 


LXXXI. 

THE   SONG   OF  AN  ORIOLE. 

SINCE  these   scenes  some   years  have 
passed,  and  Bohemia  and  the  "Wye 
borhood  are  much  changed.     Piedmont 


232 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


is  looking  up,  and  Bohemia  is  threatened 
with  a  railroad  —  merciless  disenchanter 
of  the  modern  age. 

As  to  the  moonshiners,  they  seem  to 
have  disappeared,  and  the  old  trouble 
with  these  excellent  people  has  ceased. 
No  one  connected  with  them  is  disturb- 
ed, and  Daddy  Welles  is  at  peace  with 
all  men.  If  he  ever  longs  for  a  chance 
shot  at  anybody,  he  never  says  so,  and 
passes  his  old  age  in  his  mountain  lodge 
in  smiling  content. 

Not  far  from  his  house,  and  on  the  very 
summit  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  stands  a  sort 
of  Swiss  chalet  or  hunting-lodge,  in  which 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brantz  Elliot  pass  a  large 
part  of  the  year.  Having  had  restored 
to  him  a  considerable  portion  of  the 
property  appropriated  by  his  uncle,  Mr. 
Elliot  has  his  house  in  New  York,  where 
he  spends  the  winter ;  but  the  whole  sum- 
mer and  autumn  are  passed  on  the  moun- 
tain, where  he  and  Nelly  are  not  at  all 
lonely,  as  they  have  two  fine  boys,  who 
afford  them  society. 

Gentleman  Joe  lives  at  Wye  with  his 
brother,  General  Lascelles ;  and  Mr.  Harry 
Lascelles,  his  son,  at  Falling  WTater  with 
his  wife  and  father-in-law,  Mr.  Gary.  They 
were  married  about  a  year  after  the  scenes 
in  Bohemia,  but  Frances  would  not  con- 
sent until  he  had  promised  her  not  to 
take  her  away  from  her  father.  She  is 
even  more  beautiful  than  before,  and  more 
like  the  cabinet  picture  in  the  library — 
the  portrait  of  her  mother.  Harry  man- 
ages the  estate,  and  hunts,  and  is  devoted 
to  his  wife ;  and  every  Sunday  they  at- 
tend church  at  Piedmont,  where  Mr.  Ellis 
Grantham  generally  preaches.  He  has 
returned  with  his  wife  from  a  year  of  In- 
dian missionary  service  in  Idaho,  aii<l  is 
the  assistant  of  his  father,  whose  health 
is  growing  feeble.  But  the  old  foe  of 
ritualism  is  cheerful  and  happy.  A  little 
girl,  with  Juliet's  eyes,  flourishes  her  spoon 
from  her  high  chair,  and  n-ijiu-sts  to  be 
helped  first ;  and  Mr.  Grantham,  Sr.,  while 
elaborating  his  "History  of  Ritualism," 
hears  the  pattering  of  small  feet  up-stairs, 
and  is  thankful  for  them.  There  is  a 
great  deal  of  going  to  and  fro  between 


the  parsonage  and  Trianon,  where  Mrs. 
Armstrong  makes  out  to  sustain  existence 
in  spite  of  her  loneliness.  It  is  true,  she 
drives  out  almost  every  day,  and  con- 
sumes hundreds  of  paper-bound  novels. 
Miss  Bassick  is  a  loss,  as  she  has  no  one 
to  scold — but  then  she  never  could  bear 
to  look  upon  that  serpent  again. 

The  serpent  disappeared  from  Pied- 
mont soon  after  the  unfortunate  issue  of 
her  affairs.  No  one  knew  whither  she 
went,  but  the  rumor  was  brought  that  she 
had  become  one  of  the  corps  de  ballet  of 
a  theatre  in  New  York.  There  was  still 
another  rumor  that  she  had  appeared  in  a 
breach  of  promise  case  at  the  capital ;  but 
as  the  jury  decided  that  it  was  only  an 
attempt  to  levy  blackmail,  they  dismissed 
it,  and  Miss  Bassick  vanished  from  all 
eyes. 

The  peaceful  little  neighborhood  of 
Piedmont  is  thus  quiet,  and  lives  its  life 
contentedly  under  the  shadow  of  the 
mountain,  far  off  from  the  noisy  world. 
The  days  follow,  and  resemble  each 
other,  and  glide  from  Sunday  to  Sun- 
day without  events.  Sometimes  religious 
services  are  held  in  the  Old  Chapel,  sleep- 
ing quietly  on  the  wooded  slope  of  the 
mountain.  The  winds  sigh  or  laugh  in 
the  leaves  of  the  great  oaks  there,  and  the 
weeping-willow  murmurs  as  it  murmured 
on  that  morning  when  Mouse  listened  to 
it,  and  the  Lefthander  said  it  would  be  a 
good  place  to  be  buried. 

He  is  buried  there,  not  far  from  Mr. 
Lascelles.  His  wish  was  remembered  and 
observed,  and  Mr.  Grantham  read  the  bur- 
ial-service. When  some  busybody  ques- 
tioned the  propriety  of  admitting  an  out- 
law into  the  sacred  precincts,  Mr.  Gran- 
tham was  greatly  offended,  and  said,  "  He 
is  a  man  —  are  you  more?"  And  that 
was  the  end  of  it. 

There  is  another  grave  close  by  that  of 
the  Lefthander.  The  small  head -stone 
has  on  it  the  single  name  "  Mignon." 
After  the  Lefthander's  death  she  was 
taken  to  Wye,  and  guarded  with  the  fond- 
est affection.  Mrs.  Lascelles  and  Anna 
Gray  were  quite  wrapped  up  in  her,  and 


VIRGINIA  BOHEMIANS. 


233 


the  old  general  could  not  bear  her  out  of 
his  sight — for  her  parentage  was  known, 
through  Mr.  Cary,  and  slu>  was  all  that 
was  U-ft  of  his  dead  son.  But  all  was  of 
no  avail.  The  poor  child  had  loved  the 
Lefthander  with  her  very  heart  of  hearts, 
and  her  health  slowly  failed  after  his 
death.  Grief  seldom  kills,  but  it  weakens, 
and  then  disease  finds  the  citadel  ready 
to  totter.  Mouse  lingered  until  they  had 
some  violets  to  place  on  her  white  bosom, 
and  then  she  went  to  the  Old  Chapel  to 
sleep  by  the  Lefthander. 

This  is  sad,  and  it  is  not  well  to  leave 
a  sorrowful  impression  upon  those  who 
listen  to  a  narrative  —  since  life  is  sad 
enough  already  without  that.  Fortu- 
nately Piedmont  resounds  once  more 
with  rejoiccful  music.  The  Unrivalled 
Combination  has  come  back  to  visit  the 
borough  again.  The  triumphal  entry  is 
a  triumphant  affair,  and  the  crowds  shout 
and  hurrah,  and  Mr.  Manager  Brownson 
waves  his  black  hat  and  bows.  And  then 
the  great  domes  of  canvas  rise  on  the  same 
old  ground,  and  the  crowds  rush  in,  and 
the  band  roars,  and  the  barebackers  ap- 
pear, and  the  world  of  Piedmont  is  a 
world  of  enjoyment.  The  circus  means 


to  remain  until  the  afternoon  of  th 
day,  and  the  tired  performers  th< 
sleep  lati — all  luit  one  of  them. 

She  is  a  woman,  \\lio  rises  at  daylight, 
and  goos  out.  into  the  silent  streets  and 
toward  the  mountain.  She  has  ma<le  in- 
quiries as  to  some  events  and  per- 
connected  with  the  l.-i-t  vi>it  •  •!'  the  com- 
pany to  Piedmont,  and  informed  1 

She  takes  a  path  which  obliques  i»  tin; 
left  from  the  road  leading  to  the  (lap, 
and  just  as  the  sun  i-  ri-iipj;  readier  the 
graveyard  around  the  Old  Chapel. 

It  is  difficult  to  recognize  the  laughing 
and  brilliant  Clare  de  Lune  in  the  plain- 
ly-dressed woman,  with  the  heaving  bosom 
and  eyes  wet  with  tears.  She  finds  the 
grave  she  is  looking  for  under  the  long  ta- 
sels  of  the  weeping-willow,  and  the  small 
stone  with  "Mignon"  engraved  upon  it 
close  beside  it,  and  bends  down,  and  erir<, 
and  calls  to  them  to  come  back  to  her. 

"  He  told  me  to  be  a  good  girl,  and  I 
have  been  a  good  girl — and  he  is  dead  !'* 
she  sobs. 

All  at  once  the  sun  rises  and  the  whole 
world  is  full  of  light.  From  the  top  of 
the  weeping-willow  the  song  of  an  oriole 
bursts  forth.  Clare  de  Lime  raises  her 
eyes  and  listens,  and  understands,  perhaps. 


THE  END. 


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HISTORY. 

CENTS 

Afghanistan.     By  A.  G.  Constable 15 

Constantinople.     By  James  Bryce 15 

The  Turks  iu  Europe.    By  E.  A.  Freeman. . .  15 

Tin- Spanish  Armada.  1587-1588,  By  Alfred 
II.  (inernsey 20 

The  Jews  and  their  Persecutors.  By  Eugene 
Lawrence 20 

University  Life  in  Ancient  Athens.  By  W. 
W.  Capes. 25 

Modern  France.     By  George  M.  Towle 25 

The  Four  Georges.    By  W.  M.  Thackeray  ...  25 

English  History.  Early  England,  up  to  the 
Norman  Conquest.  By  Fred.  York-Powell. 
With  Four  Maps 25 

English  History.  England  a  Continental 
Power,  from  the  Conquest  to  Magna  Char- 
ta,  1066-1216.  By  Louise  Creighton.  With 
a  Map 25 

English  History.  Rise  of  the  People  and 
Growth  of  Parliament,  from  the  Great 
Charter  to  the  Accession  of  Henry  VII., 
1215-1485.  By  James  Rowley,  M.  A.  With 
Four  Maps 25 

English  History.  Tudors  and  the  Reforma- 
tion, 1485-1603.  By  M.  Creighton,  M.A. 
With  Three  Maps 25 

English  History.  Struggle  against  Absolute 
Monarchy,  1603-1688.  By  Bertha  M.  Cor- 
dery.  With  Two  Maps 25 

English  History.  Settlement  of  the  Con- 
stitution, 1689-1784.  By  James  Rowley, 
M.A.  With  Four  Maps 25 

English  History.  England  during  the  Amer- 
ican and  European  Wars,  1765-1820.  By  O. 
W.  Tancock.  With  Five  Maps 25 

English  History.  Modern  England,  1820-1874. 
By  Oscar  Browning,  M.A 25 

Half -Hour  History  of  England.  By  M. 
Creighton 25 

The  Origin  of  the  English  Nation.  By  E.  A. 
Freeman  . .  . .  25 


DOMESTIC    SCIENCE. 

Food  and  Feeding.    By  Sir  Henry  Thomp- 
son  20 

The  Youth's  Health-Book 25 

Cooking  Receipts.     From  Hamper's  Bazar. . .  25 
Healthy    Houses.      By    Fleeming    Jenkin, 
F.R.S.    Adapted  to  American  Conditions 
by  G.  E.  Waring,  Jr 25 


FINANCE. 

CENTS 

Hints  to  Women  on  the  Care  of  Pro] 
By  Alfred  Walker 

Labor  and  Capital  Allies— Not  Kn-  : 
Edward  Atkinson 

The  A  B  C  of  Finance.     By  S.  Neweomb, 
LL.D.. 


BIOGRAPHY. 

Some  Recollections  of  Rufus  Choatc.    By 

Edwin  P. Whipplc 

Oliver  Cromwell.     By  Knatchbull  I ! 

Gaspard  DC  Coligny.     By  Walter  Bcsant ...  25 

Warren  Hastings.     By  Lord  Macaulay 'J."> 

Life  and  Writings  of  Addison.    By  Lord  Ma- 
caulay    25 

Lord  Clivc.    By  Lord  Macaulay 25 

Frederic  the  Great.     By  Lord  Macaulay 'J5 

The  Earl  of  Chatham.     By  Lord  Macaulay. .  'j:> 

William  Pitt.     By  Lord  Macaulay 25 

Samuel  Johnson.     By  Lord  Macaulay 25 

John  Hampden. — Lord  Burleigh.    By  Lord  25 

Macaulay 25 

Sir  William  Temple.    By  Lord  Macaulay. ...  25 
Machiavelli. — Horace  Walpole.    By  Lord  Ma- 
caulay   

John  Milton. — Lord  Byron.    By  Lord 

caulay 25 

Goldsmith.  —  Bunyan.  —  Madame   D'Arblay. 

By  Lord  Macaulay 

Lord  Bacon.     By  Lord  Macaulay 

Peter  the  Great.    By  John  Lothrop  Motley.  25 


FICTION. 

The  Sunken  Rock.    ByGco.Cuppl* 
The  Bar-Maid  at  Battle-ton.     By  F.  \V.  Robin- 
son  

The  Awakening.     By  Katharine  S.  Mar<|noid  15 
Lady  Carmichael's  Will,  and  other  ChrMmas 

Stories 

The  Sorrow  of  a  Secret.     By  Mary  < 
A  Dark  Inheritance.     By  Mary  (Veil  II 
Our  Professor.     By  Mrs.  E.  Lynn  Lintm: 
The  Romance  of  a  Back  Street.     By  V.  \V. 

Robinson 

Irene  Macgillicuddy 

Kate Cronin's  Dowry.    By  Mrs.  Ca-hel  Hoey.  15 
Othello  the  Second.     By  F.\\ 


Harper's  Half -Hour  Series. 


FICTION— Continued. 

CENTS 

Burning  their  Ships.    By  Barnet  Phillips 20 

Wassail.    By  Colonel  Charles  Hamley 20 

My  Sister's  Keeper.     By  Laura  M.  Lane 20 

An  International  Episode.    By  Henry  James, 

4  Jr 20 

'Twas  in  Trafalgar's  Bay.    By  Walter  Besant 

and  James  Rice 20 

Daisy  Miller.  A  Study.  By  Henry  James,  Jr.  20 
Back  to  the  Old  Home.  By  Mary  Cecil 

Hay..- 20 

The  Lady  of  Lauuay.    By  A.  Trollope 20 

The  Curate  of  Orsieres.    From  the  German 

of  Otto  Roquette,  by  Mary  A.  Robinson. . .  20 
Reaping  the  Whirlwind.  By  Mary  C.  Hay. .  20 
Seven  Years  and  Mair.  By  Anna  T  Sadlier.  20 
Brother  Jacob.— The  Lifted  Veil.  By  George 

Eliot 20 

A  Shadow  on  the  Threshold.    By  Mary  Ce- 
cil Hay 20 

Georgie's  Wooer.    By  Mrs.  Lcith- Adams 20 

Bride  of  Landeck.    By  G.  P.  R.  James 20 

Da  Capo.    By  Anne  Isabella  Thackeray 20 

Poor  Zeph  !    By  F.  W.  Robinson 20 

Janet's  Repentance.    By  George  Eliot 20 

Mr.  GilnTs  Love  Story.  By  George  Eliot ...  20 
Sad  Fortunes  of  the  Rev.  Amos  Barton.  By 

George  Eliot 20 

Percy  and  the  Prophet.  By  Wilkie  Collins. .  20 
The  House  on  the  Beach.  By  G.  Meredith . .  20 
The  Mill  of  St.  Herbot.  By  Katharine  S. 

Macquoid 20 

The  Jilt.  By  Charles  Reade.  Illustrated...  20 
The  Time  of  Roses,  B#  Geraldine  Butt. ...  20 

Dieudonnde.    By  Geraldine  Butt 20 

Thompson  Hall.    By  Anthony  Trollope.    Il- 
lustrated   20 

Behind  Blue  Glasses.    From  the  German  of 
F.W.  Hackla'nder,  by  Mary  A.  Robinson. . .  20 

Golden  Rod.    An  Idyl  of  Mount  Desert 25 

Mr.  Grantley's  Idea.     By  John  Esten  Cooke.  25 
The  Vicar  of  Wakefield.     By  Oliver  Gold- 
smith    25 

Squire  Paul.     From  the  German  of  Hans 

Warring,  by  Mary  A.  Robinson 25 

Professor  Pressensee.    By  John  Esten  Cooke  25 

A  Sussex  Idyl.    By  Clementina  Black 25 

David's  Little  Lad.    By  L.  T.  Meade 25 

Back  to  Back.  By  Edward  Everett  Hale  ...  25 
Shepherds  All  and  Maidens  Fair.  By  Walter 

Besant  and  James  Rice 25 

My  Lady's  Money.    Related  by  Wilkie  Col- 
lins   25 

Virginia.    A  Roman  Sketch 25 

Win -n   the  Ship  Comes  Home.     By  Walter 
Besant  and  James  Rice  . .  . .  25 


BELLES-LETTRES. 

CENT3 

The  Lover's  Talc.    By  Alfred  Tennyson 10 

The  Task.     By  William  Cowper 20 

Talcs  from  Euripides.     By  V.  K.  Cooper 20 

The  Lay  of  the  Last  Minstrel.    By  Sir  Wal- 
ter Scott 20 

Oliver  Goldsmith's  Poems 20 

Oliver  Goldsmith's  Plays 25 

The   Lady    of  the   Lake.      By   Sir  Walter 

Scott 25 

Marmion.    By  Sir  Walter  Scott 25 

History.— Hallam's  Constitutional  History. 

By  Lord  Macaulay 25 

Our  Village.    By  Miss  Mitford 25 

American  Ballads.     By  Thos.  Dunn  English.  25 

Ballads  of  Battle  and  Bravery 25 

The  Rivals  and  the  School  for  Scandal.    By 

Richard  Brinsley  Sheridan 25 

Sir  Roger  De  Coverley.    From  the  Spectator. 

With  Notes  by  W.  H.Wrills 25 

Primers  of  Literature : 

Greek.    By  Eugene  Lawrence 25 

Latin.     By  Eugene  Lawrence 25 

Medieval.    By  Eugene  Lawrence 25 

English:  Romance  Period. — Classical  Pe- 
riod.—Modern   Period.     By   Eugene 

Lawrence.    3  vols.     Each 25 

American.    By  Eugene  Lawrence 25 

German.    By  Helen  S.  Conant 25 

Spanish.    By  Helen  S.  Conant 25 

Tales  from    Shakspeare.     By  Charles    and 
Mary  Lamb.    In  2  vols.    I.  Comedies. — II. 

Tragedies.    Each 25 

The   Adventures   of  Ulysses.     By  Charles 

Lamb 25 

Tales  from  the  Odyssey  for  Boys  and  Girls..  2?> 

Stories  from  Virgil.     By  A.  J.  Church £. 

The  English  Humorists.     By  W.  M.  Thacke- 
ray.   In  2  vols.    Each 2o 


MISCELLANEOUS. 

Modem  Whist.    By  Fisher  Ames 20 

Chapters  on  Ants.     By  Mary  Treat 20 

Six  Months  on  a  Slaver.     By  E.  Manning 20 

Our  Chinese  Relations.     By  T.W.  Knox. 20 

Pottery  Painting.    By  J.  C.  L.  Sparkes 20 

The  Coming  Man.    By  Charles  Reade 20 

Tin-  c'anoc  and  the  Flying  Proa.     By  W.  L. 

Alden.     Illustrated ' 25 

Count  Moltkc's  Letters  from  Russia 25 

A  Year  of  American  Travel.     By  J.  B.  Fre- 
mont   25 

Holidays  in  Eastern  France.    By  M.  Betham- 
Edwards 25 


Published  by  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  New  York, 

^y  Any  timitij-fi  96  «f  //"  "'-  "  j><i])er  covers,  will  be  sent  by  mail  (in  box),  postage  , 

to  ann  i»irt  <ij' t/n-  I'nitol  Sintix,  "it  r<r,ij,f  <-/'  /•';/•/  Dollars.     The  volumes  sent 
separably  <t(  tfnlr  u<lr,  rtis<  ,1  },,•<••<  \,  ]»>.•<(, i;/,  free. 

Harper's  Half -H»ur  &ritt"  will  I,?  *///////iVr/  ///  H<>i/<  forfi \ft<cn  cents  a  volume  in  addition  to  the 
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FRANKLIN  SQUARE  LIBRARY. 


HISTORY  AND  BIOGRAPHY. 

own 

iThe  History  of  a  Crime.     By  Victor  Hugo 10 

I  The  Right  'Hon.  Benjamin  Disraeli,  Karl  of  Beaeonsiirhl.  K.<;.     With  Two  Portraits in 

| The  Christians  and  Moors  of  Spain.     By  Charlotte  M.  Yon go .  1<> 

IThc  Plague  in  London.     By  Daniel  Defoe 1<> 

A  History  of  Our  Own  Times.     By  Justin  McCarthy.     Part  I 

I  The  Life  of  Charles  Lever,     By  \V.  J.  Kitzpatrk-k i:» 

•  The  Life  of  C.  J.  Mathews.     Edited  by  Charles  Diekens K, 

Memoirs  of  Madame  dc  Krmusat.    1802-1808.     Edited  by  Paul  de  Remusat,  Senator.    Trans- 
lated by  Mrs.  Cashel  lloey  and  Mr.  John  Lillie. 

Tart  I id 

Part  II , 10 

Part  III.     Illustrated 10 

if  The  Nineteenth  Century.     By  Robert  Mackenzie 1  •"> 

Russia  before  and  after  the  War.    Translated  from  the  German  by  E.  Fairfax  Taylor 10 

POETRY. 

Selected  Poems  of  Matthew  Arnold 10 

Poems  of  Wordsworth.    Chosen  and  Edited  by  Matthew  Arnold 10 

ANECDOTES. 

The  Irish  Bar:  Anecdotes,  Biographical  Sketches,  &c.     By  J.  Roderick  O'Flanagan 1". 

The  Munster  Circuit :  Tales,  Trials,  aud  Traditions.    By  J.  Roderick  O'Flanagan 15 

TRAVEL   AND   ADVENTURE. 

Through  Asiatic  Turkey.     By  Grattan  Geary !."> 

Sport  and  Work  on  the  Nepaul  Frontier.     By  "  Maori " 10 

Eothen.     By  Alexander  William  Kinglake 1<) 

The  Zulus  and  the  British  Frontiers.     By  Captain  Thomas  J.  Lucas 10 

A  Few  Months  in  New  Guinea.    By  O.  C.  Stone 10 

FICTION. 

Is  He  Popenjoy  ?    By  Anthony  Trollope l.r> 

Paul  Knox,  Pitman.    By  John  Berwick  Harwood U) 

My  Heart's  in  the  Highlands.    By  the  Author  of  "The  Sun-Maid,"  &c 1" 

Henriette.     By  Ernest  Daudet.     translated  by  L.  E.  Kendall 10 

Christine  Brownlee's  Ordeal.     By  Mary  Patrick 1 ."» 

A  Beautiful  Woman.     By  Leon  Brook 10 

Honor's  Worth.     By  Meta  Orred l."> 

Kingsdcne.     By  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Fetherstonhaugh 1  < ' 

Cleveden.    By  Stephen  Yorke 1<> 

The  Young  Duke.     By  Benjamin  Disraeli 1  "> 

"  Bonnie  Lesley."    By  Mrs.  Herbert  Martin 10 

The  Bubble  Reputation.     By  Katharine  King 1"» 

Among  Aliens.     By  Mrs.  F.  E.  Trollope.     Illustrated 1  •"» 

Guy  Livingstone.    By  George  A.  Lawrence 1<> 

Time  Shall  Try.    By*F.  E.  M.  Notley !•'• 

Evelina.    By  Frances  Burney  (Madame  D'Arblay) 1  •"> 

The  Bachelor  of  the  Albany . . '. 

Auld  Lang  Syne.    By  W.  Clark  Russell 10 

Maclcod  of  Dare.     By  William  Black 

The  Mistletoe  Bough.     Edited  by  M.  E.  Braddon 1  •"• 

Rare  Pale  Margaret.     By  the  Author  of  "  The  Two  Miss  Flemings/ '  tVcc 10 

Love's  Crosses.     By  F.'E.  M.  Notley !•"• 

Light  and  Shade.     By  Charlotte  G.  O'Brien " 

Elinor  Dryden.     By  Mrs.  Katharine  S.  Macqnoid !•'» 

The  Last  Days  of  Pompeii.     By  Edward  Bulwer,  Lord  Lytton !•"» 

Jane  Eyre.     By  Charlotte  Bronte  (Currer  Bell) 

An  Eye  for  an  Eye.    By  Anthony  Trollope 

Man  and  Wife.     By  Wilkie  Collins 15 

A  True  Marriage.  "By  Emily  Spender !•"» 

Kelverdale.    By  the  Earl  of  Desart 15 


Franklin  Square  Library. 


FICTION— Continued. 

CENTS 

Within  Sound  of  the  Sea.    By  the  Author  of  " Iscultc,"  &c TO 

The  Last  of  Her  Line.    By  Eliza  Tabor 15 

Vixen.     By  M.  E.  Braddon 15 

Within  the  Precincts.     By  Mrs.  Oliphant 15 

All  or  Nothing.     By  Mrs.  Frances  Cashel  Hoey 15 

The  Grahams  of  Invermoy.     By  M.  C.  Stirling 15 

Coward  Conscience.    By  F.  W.  Robinson 15 

The  Cloven  Foot.     By  M.  E.  Braddon 15 

Quaker  Cousins.     By  Agnes  Macdonell 15 

The  Sherlocks.    By  John  Saunders 15 

That  Artful  Vicar.    By  the  Author  of  "  The  Russians  of  To-day,"  &c 15 

Under  One  Roof.     By  James  Payn 15 

41  For  a  Dream's  Sake."    By  Mrs.  Herbert  Martin 15 

Lady  Lee's  Widowhood.     By  Captain  Edward  B.  Hamley,  R. A 15 

Basildon.    By  Mrs.  Alfred  W.  Hunt 15 

John  Halifax,  Gentleman.     By  Miss  Mulock t 15 

Orange  Lily.    By  May  Crommelin 10 

John  Caldigate.    By  Anthony  Trollope 15 

The  House  of  Lys.    By  General  W,  G.  Hamley 15 

Henry  Esmond.    By  W.  M.  Thackeray 15 

Mr.  Leslie  of  Underwood.    By  Mary  Patrick 15 

The  Green  Hand.    A  Short  Yarn.    By  George  Cupples 15 

Dorcas.     By  Georgiana  M.  Craik 15 

The  Gvpsv.    By  G.  P.  R.  James 15 

Moy  O'Brien.    A  Tale  of  Irish  Life.     By  "Melusine" 10 

Framley  Parsonage.     By  Anthony  Trollope 15 

The  Afghan's  Knife.    By  Robert  Armitage  Sterndale,  F.R.G.S 15 

The  Two  Miss  Flemings.     By  the  Author  of  "  Rare  Pale  Margaret,"  &c 15 

Rose  Mervyn.     By  Anne  Beale 15 

Adventures  of  Reuben  Davidger.     A  Tale  for  Boys.     By  James  Greenwood 15 

The  Talisman.     By  Sir  Walter  Scott,  Bart.    Illustrated 15 

The  Pickwick  Papers.    By  Charles  Dickens £0 

Madge  Dunraven.     By  the  Author  of  "The  Queen  of  Connaught" 10 

Young  Mrs.  Jardine.     By  Miss  Mulock 10 

Cousin  Henry.    By  Anthony  Trollope 10 

Sense  and  Sensibility.     By  Jane  Austen 15 

The  Bertrams.     By  Anthony  Trollope 15 

The  Fugitives.      By  Mrs.  Oliphant 10 

The  Parson  o'  Dumford.    By  George  Mauville  Fenn 15 

High  Spirits.     By  James  Payn 15 

The  Mistletoe  Bough  for  Christmas,  1879.    Edited  by  M.  E.  Braddon 10 

The  Egoist.     By  George  Meredith 15 

The  Bells  of  Penraven.     By  B.  L.  Farjcon 10 

A  Doubting  Heart.    By  Annie  Kcary 15 

Little  Miss  Primrose.     By  Eliza  Tabor 15 

Donna  Quixote.    By  Justin  McCarthy 15 

Nell— On  and  Off  the  Stage.     By  B.  H.  Buxton 15 

Sweet  Nelly,  My  Heart's  Delight.     By  James  Rice  and  Walter  Besai.t 10 

Sir  John.     By  the  Author  of  "Anne  Dysart" 15 

The  Greatest  Heiress  in  England.    By  Mrs.  Oliphant 15 

Queen  of  the  Meadow.     By  Chnrlcs  Gibbon 15 

Friend  and  Lover.     By  Iza  Dutfus  Hardy 15 

Cousin  Simon.     By  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Robert  Murshum 10 

Mademoiselle  De  Mersnc.     By  the  Author  of  "Heaps  of  Money" 15 

Barbara ;  or,  Splendid  Misery.     By  M.  E.  Braddon 15 

A  Sylvan  Queen.     By  the  Author  of  "  Rachel's  Secret,"  &c 15 

Tom  Singleton.     By  W.  W.  Follett  Synge 15 

The  Return  of  the  Princess.    By  Jacques  Vincent.    Translated  by  L.  E.  Kendall 10 

A  Wayward  Woman.     By  Arthur  GriflUhs 15 

Two  Women.     By  Georgiana  M.  Craik 15 

Daireen.    By  F.  Frankfort  Moore 15 

For  Her  Dear  Sake.     By  Mary  Cecil  Hav 15 

Prince  Hugo.    By  the  Author  of  "My  Heut'l  in  the  Highlands" 15 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

The  Russians  of  To-day.    By  the  Author  of  "  The  Member  for  Paris,"  &c 10 

The  People  of  Turkey.     By  a  Consul's  Daughter  and  Wife 15 

Havcrholme;  or,  The  ApOtheMll  of  Jinur<>.     A  Satire,     liy  Edward  Jenkins : 

Impressions  of  Theophrastus  Such.    By  George  Eliot 10 


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IPER  &  BROTHERS  will  send  any  of  the  following  works  by  mat*/,  postage  prepaid,  to  any 
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WILLIAM  BLACK'S  NOVELS. 


Daughter  of  Ileth. 
Princess  of  Thule. 
h-een  Pastures  and  Piccadilly. 
Silk  Attire. 


Kilineny. 
Madcap  Violet. 

The  Strange  Adventures  of  u  Phaeton. 
Three  Feathers. 
Macleod  of  Dare. 


9  volumes,  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25  per  volume. 
Complete  Sets,  $10  00. 


MISS  MULOCK'S  WORKS. 


John  Halifax. 

Hannah. 

Olive. 

Ogilvies. 

The  Head  of  the  Family. 

Agatha's  Husband. 

A  Life  for  a  Life. 

Two  Marriages. 

Christian's  Mistake. 

A  Hero. 

A  Noble  Life. 


Sermons  out  of  Church. 

The  Fairy  Book. 

Unkind  Word. 

Mistress  and  Maid. 

The  Laurel  Bush. 

The  Woman's  Kingdom. 

A  Brave  Lady. 

My  Mother  and  I. 

Studies  from  Life. 

A  Legacy. 

Young  Mrs.  Jardine. 


22  volumes,  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25  per  volume. 
Complete  Sets,  $24  00. 


CHARLES  READE'S  NOVELS. 


A  Terrible  Temptation. 

A  Simpleton,  and  The  Wandering  Heir. 

It  is  Never  Too  Late  to  Mend. 

White  Lies. 

Love  Me  Little,  Love  Me  Long. 

Griffith  Gaunt. 


The  Cloister  and  the  Hearth. 

Foul  Play. 

Peg  Woffington,  Christie  Johnstone,  <tc. 

Put  Yourself  in  His  Place. 

A  Woman-Hater. 

Hard  Cash. 


12  volumes,  Illustrated,  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  00  per  volume. 
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Harper's  Library  Editions  of  Popular  Novels. 


WILKIE  COLLINS'S  NOVELS. 


Armadale. 

Basil. 

Hide-and-Seek. 

Man  and  Wife. 

No  Name. 

After  Dark,  and  other  Stories. 

The  Dead  Secret. 

The  Moonstone. 


The  New  Magdalen. 

The  Woman  in  White. 

Antonina. 

Poor  Miss  Finch. 

The  Queen  of  Hearts. 

My  Miscellanies. 

The  Law  and  The  Lady. 

The  Two  Destinies. 


16  volumes,  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25  per  volume. 
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W.  M.  THACKERAY'S  WORKS. 


Vanity  Fair. 

Pendennis. 

The  Newcomes. 

Barry  Lyndon,  Hoggarty  Diamond,  &c. 

Paris  and  Irish  Sketch-Books,  &c. 

Book  of  Snobs,  Sketches,  &c. 


The  Virginians. 
The  Adventures  of  Philip. 
Henry  Esmond,  and  Lovel  the  Widower. 
Four  Georges,  English  Humorists,  Round- 
about Papers,  etc. 
Catherine,  Christmas  Books,  &c. 


Illustrated.     11  volumes,  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25  per  volume. 
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GEORGE  ELIOT'S  NOVELS. 


Adam  Bede. 

Daniel  Deronda.     2  vols. 

Felix  Holt, 


Middlemarch.     2  vols. 
Scenes  of  Clerical  Life,  and  Silas  Marner, 
The  Mill  on  the  Floss. 
Romola. 


9  volumes,  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  25  per  volume. 
Complete  Sets,  $10  00. 


CHARLOTTE  BRONTE'S  NOVELS. 

Jane  Eyre.  The  Professor. 

Shirley.  Villette. 

Illustrated,  12mo,  Cloth,  $1  00  per  volume. 
Complete  Sets,  $3  50. 


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[iry  81,  John,  Gentleman, 

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1774-:;..     i;\  JOBS  ESTBS  COOKK,     ii'm,.,  rioth,  $1  so. 


v  depicts  the  social  life  of  Virginia  in  the  l   feetive  t<>ueh'--.     The  eharaeters  are  well  introduced, 
of  Governor  Dunmore,  and  is  full  of  happy,  of-  I  ami  tho  scones  of  Uld  Virginia  are  finely  .-Uctched. 

ither  Stocking  and  Silk; 

Or,  Hunter  .Mm  Myers  and  his  Times.     A  Story  of  the  Valley  of  Virginia.      15  y 
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iy  to  the   heart  of  the  reader   hv   its    simple     author  has  a  rare  perception   of  the  e.ipaei' 
lies  of  nature,  its  gentle  pathos,  and  the  admit1-     character  for  dramatic  ofl'eet.  —  A'.  )'.  Trd>ni(e. 

|.  Grantley's  Idea, 

By  JOHN  ESTEN  COOKE.     32mo,  Paper,  25  cents. 

lively  story.  —  N.  Y.  Tribune.  I       A  spriirhtly  story.  —  <'l>'n-n<i«  Int,rhr. 

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From  the  Settlement  to  the  End  of  the  Revolution.    By  JOHN  ESTEN  COOKE.    12mo, 
Cloth,  $1  50. 


T.  Cooke  has  the  manner  of  an  entertaining  ra- 
as  well  when  he  is  telling  stories  to  his  boys 


and  others — to  whom  this  book  is  dedicated  —  as 
when  he  is  writing  for  older  folk. — .V.  }'.  \Vurld. 


ie  Virginia  Bohemians, 

A  Novel.     By  JOHN  ESTEN  COOKE.     8vo,  Paper,  75  cents ;  Half  Bound,  Si  00. 

work  is  in  Mr.  Cooke's  best  style,  abound-  I  sketches  of  quaint  native  character,  and  1- 
in   vivid   pictures    of   the  mountain  scenery,  |  scriptions  of  great  freshness  of  coloiint:." 


PUBLISHED  BY  HARPER  &  BROTHERS,  NK\V  Y..KK. 

HARPER  &  BROTHERS  will  semi  any  of  the  above  works  by  mail,  postage  prepaid,  to  a,uj  j».irt  of  the 
United  State,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 


•HARPERS-PERIODICALS 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 
BERKELEY 

Return  to  desk  from  which  borrowed. 
This  book  is  DUE  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


LOAN 

WIT 

10 


SEP*  ^'. 

30Apr'60RT 

IN  STACKS 
APR  1  6 1960 
v  '~C'D  LD 

191960 


LD  21-100m-7,'52(A2528sl6)476 


M504G41 


r 


